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by coffeecup_and_ink



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Room, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, but then he's never mentioned again cause fuck him, carson is here for a chapter cause it was written before It happened, jumping on the found family sbi bandwagon pog, no beta we die like wilbur soot after his arc finishes, this is basically my other fic but not fantasy and without tubbo n fundy, triggers will be listed in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecup_and_ink/pseuds/coffeecup_and_ink
Summary: After eleven homes and seven years, Wilbur Soot stopped trying.Not that he gave up. The whole world wanted him to give up, and the world had fucked him over too many times for him to give in to what it wanted. He just stopped trying with people. With the system. With adults. They expected a special case kid to be loud, rough, angry and abrasive. So he was.And then there was Phil.[formerly called 'You Will be Found' but that was shit]
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, don't ship real people or I'll cut off your toes
Comments: 371
Kudos: 2783
Collections: Best of Hurt/Comfort, Completed fics I read, Completed stories I've read, Found family to make me feel something, MCYT Fic Rec





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers (none in graphic detail):  
> Mentions of child abuse/neglect  
> panic attacks  
> mentions of hunger/starving  
> my boi Wilbur is kinda fucked up but we still love him
> 
> Stay safe y'all!

His file started off small. He didn’t remember his first family, not really. He was young, and his life was still rose-tinted and bright, and he wasn’t old enough to realise just how easy it was to lose people. He remembered he smiled a lot, and that he was quieter, and that he was an only child, and they had a little fish that was called Milo that lived in a tank with a little castle on the left hand side. But he didn’t remember what colour the castle was, or why the fish was called Milo, or what his parents looked like, or how it felt to be held, and he couldn’t really tell if that made it better or worse.

He had been taken to a room by his mother. The room was small, with brown carpet and beige walls. It had a pile of magazines on a coffee table, but he didn’t remember what the magazines were about. There were people milling about, and some of them talked to his mother, and they were all smiling in the way adults do when they really don’t want to be smiling, but they do anyway because there’s no alternative. He stood by his mother and the way the man at the front desk tapped the side of his pen to the corner of his mouth.

After enough time that his feet began to ache from standing up, his mother sat him down on a leathery couch that he couldn’t remember the colour of, and tugged her hand away from him. He hadn’t wanted to let go, but she smiled kindly at him and said “It’s alright, dear. I’ll be back soon, don’t you worry.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, these lovely women are just going to ask you a few questions.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m just going to get something from the car.”

_Don’t worry sweetie, I’m just never coming back._

And there it started. He made it a month into his first home before he ran away, looking for a woman who lied. After that, his file grew steadily.

He made it for seven months in the second home, before someone noticed the bruises. Homes three through six lasted six months each, before inevitably spitting him back out. They were too broke, or they were too rough, or he was too much work and _how_ could he expect any of them to even _try_ to keep something like him? So he went away, and his file grew, but then six homes became seven, and seven homes became nine, incident after incident and he started hearing people talk about him behind hands in hushed voices, started seeing people look at him and look at his file and quickly look away before anyone asked if they wanted him and then there was house ten and wasn’t _that_ a disastrous sixty-seven days? And then he had ten homes in his _fucking_ file and ten ‘major incidents’ and people stopped even bothering to look at him because his file had ‘SPECIAL CASE’ written on it in big red writing and he really couldn’t win so he just _stopped trying._

Not that he gave up. The whole world wanted him to give up, and the world had fucked him over too many times for him to give in to what it wanted. He just stopped trying with people. With the system. With adults. They expected a special case kid to be loud, rough, angry and abrasive. So he was.

House eleven lasted nearly a year, which was a new record for him. He didn’t even have to run away this time, there were just four other kids there and they were all much, _much_ bigger than he was, and there wasn’t enough food for the whole family so whoever got there last was hungry, and the others thought it was hilarious that he was always hungry, until they all had to leave the house because the parents were fucking _arrested_ , and _Jesus_ , did adults always have to be so dramatic? Family Eleven weren’t nearly as bad as Family Eight, for example, because at least Family Eleven had a _reason_ to refuse to feed him.

Maybe it was luck-of-the-draw, or maybe it was because Family Eight was rich and powerful and could hide his thinning frame behind a bribe and a smile, but Family Eleven was gone and he was alone again. Not that he had ever really _had_ anyone in Family Eleven, but the constant yelling was better than the all-consuming silence of Family Five, at least.

Then there was Phil.

Phil talked to his supervisor a lot. He pretended he wasn’t listening, but he always was. Phil asked how old he was, his supervisor curtly said “Fifteen.” He asked how long he had been in the system, she said “Seven years. He’s been through eleven homes, but he’s caused major incidents at all of them. He’s a special case, you see.” He asked why they had let him go through eleven homes without any kind of intervention, she shifted uncomfortably.

“Mr. Watson-“

“Phil is fine.”

“Well, Phil, William is a special case.”

“I saw. I read his file.”

Wilbur wanted to turn to Phil, ask him why he read his file if he was just going to politely say ‘ _no, actually, I’ll find a slightly less fucked up kid to give me karma points’_ and walk away. But that would mean Phil would know he had been listening, and that would mean Phil would want to talk to him, and Wilbur could already feel his breath catching at the thought. So he stayed silent.

“O-oh. Well, you must know that William is a rather special case-“

“As you keep saying, but he hasn’t done anything particularly heinous since I’ve been here.”

“Well, yes, but I must warn you Mr Watson-“

“Phil.”  
“ _Phil_ , William isn’t a regular child. He has issues with anger, he’s incredibly aggressive at times, he doesn’t-“

Wilbur spaced out. He had heard it all before, he knew exactly what his supervisor thought of him, and frankly, he knew it to be true. He didn’t _want_ to be angry, per se, but if he was rude and callous and aggressive from the beginning there was no waiting for when everyone would inevitably blow up at him and strike. It was easier. If he was going to end up beaten or sobbing, it would be better straight away, before he could be lulled into comfort or make any attachments. _Efficiency_.

“William.” His supervisor’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. He suppressed a flinch, badly, but held on to the hope that maybe Phil hadn’t seen it. He probably had. Wilbur didn’t particularly care (he really, _really_ did care, actually).

“Yeah?”

“Don’t _‘yeah’_ at me, young man.”

“’Kay.”

His supervisor drew in a slow breath, eyes closed behind her glasses. They were green, and they had little rhinestones in the side which Wilbur assumed were there to make her feel ‘young and hip’, but all they really did was make it glaringly obvious that she was well into her sixties.

This was what Wilbur was good at. Pissing people off, making sure no one could wriggle close to him. For a moment, Wilbur built himself up for a hit. “You’re going to be going home with Phil now. I have your things already packed, they’re just outside.” She turned to Phil. “Have a good evening, and please don’t hesitate to call me if you have any problems with him.”

Phil smiled, and he looked kind. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“Hah, bet.” Wilbur scoffed. His supervisor glared at him, and he glared back, but Phil stepped in before she could start chastising him. “Thank you very much for your help, Miss Adams. I’ll make sure to keep in contact with you.”

The trip from the building into the car was silent. Wilbur stayed as far away as physically possible, shoulders hunched into himself, and the small faux-leather bag with his clothes clutched tight to his chest. He eyed Phil, just in his peripheral. He looked kind, but so had the mother of Family Four. He had blonde hair that just curled at the ends, and broad shoulders. In one hand he held Wilbur’s file, and with the other he swung open the door of his car. There was a spot on his left hand, barely noticeable, but it was easier to look at than Phil’s eyes.

Wilbur hopped in the car without making a sound, and with a second of hesitation huddled himself directly behind the driver’s seat, out of Phil’s direct vison. Unexpectedly, Phil didn’t start the car right away. He turned in his seat, twisting himself in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable, and smiled at Wilbur. Wilbur did not smile back.

“So, William.”

“It’s Wilbur.” Wilbur waited for an eye-roll, for a groan or a reprimanding, but Phil just smiled. “Wilbur, sorry. Before we go home, I just wanted to give you a little bit of a heads up. Nothing bad, just a couple ground rules, things about home, stuff like that.”

Wilbur’s eyes darted away from Phil’s face. This was where he told him that they didn’t tolerate talking in the house (Family Five), or they would lock him in his room if he didn’t support the right football team (Family Seven—he didn’t even _like_ football), or that he wasn’t allowed to eat breakfast until he had washed both parent’s cars, washed the windows and taken out the rubbish (Family Three). He nodded.

“Well, our house is pretty cosy, not too small though. I’d prefer it if you could take off your shoes at the door, but I’m not going to get in a rage if you don’t. I have two other sons, both from the foster system like you. Tommy’s fourteen, and Techno’s turned sixteen a few months ago. You’ll be sharing a room with Tech, but it’s a big room, so I think you’ll be fine, and he’s pretty quiet anyway. I-“

Wilbur shuddered. He knew people like this. Phil seemed nice, but no one adopts three foster kids out of nowhere from the goodness of their heart. Either Phil was looking for a newspaper article ( _‘Local man adopts three trainwreck children! He’s a hero if you don’t mind all the neglect!’_ Wilbur scoffed in his head), or he was looking for the government funding.

Or maybe all Wilbur was was fresh meat. Why is he assuming that the two other guys would be _anything_ like him? For all he knew, they could both have been adopted at birth and fed caviar on a silver platter for their whole lives. Maybe they needed something to take their anger out on, and Phil saw the little shit no-one would miss and pounced on the opportunity. Maybe he’d get there and realise ‘Tommy’ and ‘Techno’ were Phil pride and joys, and all Wilbur was was a convenient meal for them. It wouldn’t surprise him, he’d never adopt someone like _him_ either-

Wilbur’s shoulder was on fire. Something was touching him, grabbing him, he was _expecting_ this but not so _soon_ they’re not even out of the car park yet why is he already grabbing him what did he do wrong why why _why why why-_

“Wilbur, bud, you’re okay. You’re alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” Wilbur shrunk back into the seat of the car, clutching at the soft fabric of his sweater. Phil took his hand away gently from Wilbur’s shoulder, slowly, not making any sharp movements. “See? You’re alright. Sorry, I should’ve made sure you were okay with touching before that. Do you need me to repeat anything I said? You looked pretty deep in your head then.”

Wilbur hadn’t really heard anything Phil had said. “N-no. I’m fine.”

Phil smiled softly again. “That’s alright then, we’ll head home. You can rest a bit on the way if you want, but it’s not too long a drive.”

* * *

When Phil said the house was cosy, he had expected it to be tiny. That’s what people with tiny houses always said if they hated the tinyness of their house. ‘ _Oh yes, it’s cosy, only one bedroom between four people and a single bathroom, but it’s just cosy. Very cosy, where you can’t breathe easily, lest someone get angry at you for invading their personal space. Nice and cosy.’_ (Family Eleven).

Phil’s house was two stories tall. It was painted light blue-grey, and it had a black-tiled roof with two solar panels on top. A couple of the white-framed windows had small pots for plants to grow in, but only the one of the top right had anything visible from the ground. There were two bikes tied to the front porch, one red and one green, and a hammock between two pillars. The front garden looked well-managed, green and mowed. Phil wasn’t poor, then.

The car stopped outside, but Wilbur felt slightly frozen to the spot. Phil seemed to notice this, because he opened the car door for him. “Don’t worry, it isn’t too chaotic. Most of the time. I’ll make sure you’re not hit with the full Watson experience too quickly.”

Wilbur steeled himself. As they neared the front door, he felt himself slowly start building up again, felt a cool frown pass over his face. It was best he didn’t show emotion, not until he knew what the rules were.

As soon as Phil opened the door, something inside crashed. Wilbur took about three steps backwards and almost took off running. He couldn’t do this.

“Dad?” Someone inside came skidding into the front hallway, shouting. _Fuck fuck I can’t do this I can’t_. “Dad! Tell Techno that he can’t play on the Wii if Tubbo ‘n’ I are!”

A groan. “ _No,_ tell Tubbo and Tommy that _they_ can’t play it when I’m obviously in the middle of a game.” The owner of this voice came into the hallway slightly slower, his deep voice sounding bored.

“ _Shut up!_ ” The first boy screeched, blue eyes flickering angrily. “We were there first! You just can’t wait your turn!”

“Oh _I_ can’t wait my turn-“

“That’s what I said, bitch!”

“For God’s sake, Tommy, please just-“

“ _Boys!_ ”

Wilbur was shaking. His hands were clutching his shirt again. The two boys were silent, having realised Wilbur was there, and they looked a bit guilty, which was kind of confusing because why would _they_ be guilty?

 _God_ , that was an awful introduction. He’d be surprised if he even made it two weeks if he kept acting like this. Wilbur had fucked up, Wilbur was going to get kicked out, he was the one in the wrong, just like always.

For God’s sake, he was being ridiculous.

“Wilbur? You okay?” Phil was looking at him, concerned. He was still shaking. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m f _ine_.” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure dude?” The young, screechy one said. “You don’t look okay.”

“ _Tommy-_ ”

“The fuck is it to you? You a fuckin’ doctor or something?” He hadn’t meant to say it. He just wanted people to stop asking him questions, stop looking at him like that, he wanted the two boys to go away and Phil to go away and he really just wanted to find somewhere small and quiet he could have a bit of a panic attack in, but Tommy’s face soured. “Alright man, no need to get all touchy. Was only trying to be _nice_.” He snarked.

Wilbur bristled. “Yeah, well I didn’t fucking ask you to be nice, did I?”

“Oh you fucking-“

“ _Tommy!”_

Tommy went stock still, wide-eyed and tense. Techno flinched. _Huh. Maybe not fed caviar then._

Phil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to shout and I’m not angry, none of you did anything wrong, I promise. I’m yelling because I wanted to ease Wilbur in slowly, and this wasn’t the best way to do that. Techno, could you show Wilbur to his room? I need to start dinner.”

Tommy relaxed in increments. “Tubbo’s staying the night.” He said it almost as if it was a challenge; he was testing the waters, Wilbur noted. Trying to see how far he could go before Phil yelled again.

“Are Tubbo’s parents aware of that?”

“We told Eret, they said they’d tell their parents.”

“Alright, I trust Eret. Go grab the blow-up mattress.”

The face of a dark-haired boy, who looked around Tommy’s age, popped out from behind the door of the hallway. “Thanks Phil!” Phil only chuckled, and waited for Tommy and the other boy—Tubbo, presumably—to head up the stairs, before turning back to Wilbur. He smiled. “Sorry about that, that probably wasn’t the best introduction to a house you’ve ever had-“ Wilbur had the sudden urge to tell him about his introduction to Family Five, which was arguably much worse, but decided against it. “-but that was Tommy, and his friend from school, Tubbo. I should’ve called first to let them know I was bringing you back today.”

Phil gently took Wilbur by the arm and pulled him over to the other boy—Techno. He had long, straight hair down to his chest, which was bright pink all the way to his roots. His hands were fidgeting at his sides, twisting his fingers together, and there was an old, faded scar running along the side of his chin to his jaw. He didn’t smile.

“Wilbur, this is Techno. Techno, Wilbur.” Wilbur didn’t like the way Techno was staring at him, like he knew exactly what Wilbur was thinking. Just in case, Wilbur let off a quick scream in his head (Techno didn’t flinch). “The two of you are going to be sharing a room, for now,” He patted Techno once on the head, smiled at them both, then simply said “I want the two of you to get to know each other better. I’m gonna go make some dinner, call me if you need anything.” He left, and Techno and Wilbur were left standing still in the hallway.

The silence was slowly killing Wilbur. Techno was still looking at him. He took a breath, feigned aloofness, and rolled his eyes. “We’re sharing a room? Great. Fan- _fucking-_ tastic.” Wilbur had already fucked up in this house. The Tommy kid already hated him, Techno probably hated him too, and he was still waiting for Phil to show his true colours, so why pretend to be nice and quiet?

When Techno spoke, he was annoyingly calm. Amused. His hand still fidgeted at the hem of his shirt. “Well, we’ve got an old dog kennel outside, if you want. Might suit you better.”

Wilbur laughed, sharp and _fakefakefake_. “Been there done that. Family Six, week eight. Gonna have to try harder than that.”

Techno shifted uncomfortably. _Good_. Wilbur wanted him uncomfortable. It was easier to get the upper ground then, was easy to eat instead of be eaten. He raised an eyebrow, challenging, eyes narrowed. “Room?”

“Uh,” Techno looked at him strangely. “This way.” Wilbur silently followed Techno up the stairs Tommy and Tubbo had ascended earlier; they creaked and complained, sounding old and tired, but they felt strong against Wilbur’s socked feet (he had remembered to take his shoes off at the door, even if he played with the idea of just keeping them on out of spite).

He should probably have changed his socks before he met up with Phil and his supervisor. They were his worst pair, the scraggly, hand-me-down brown ones Family Nine had given him for Christmas because they were forced to. They had three holes in them, the smallest of which constantly threatening to expose his pinkie toe. Maybe he should start working the ‘poor little street rat looking for a family’ persona, he might get more middle-aged women with a saviour complex to treat him like a lost puppy.

“Hey!”

Wilbur flinched. “Huh? What?”

Techno was looking at him again, holding a pale blue door open in front of him. “Uh, we’re here? We didn’t walk that far, man. You’re kinda spacey, aren’t you?”

Wilbur brushed past him into the room. “Yeah, alright. You try ‘n’ get adopted out of nowhere by some random guy with two other annoyingass kids. See how you fare on the first day.” The room was by no means special. It was clean, seemingly a place for everything. The walls were painted a warmish fawn colour, with two beds on opposite sides, and a fully-stacked bookshelf between them. The only messy areas were a small desk with a pc, stacked almost to collapse with books and paper, and a barely-made bed with God knows how many empty coffee cups balanced on the bedside table. There was a guitar on a stand in the corner, and Wilbur’s heart panged with a thousand different emotions (Guilt. Fear. Longing. Sadness. Regret). He quickly looked away.

Techno scoffed mockingly. “’ _Been there done that_.’ I was the first of us, yeah, but it was only two years ago. Not like I knew he was gonna get me, either.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Two years ago? And here I was, thinking he’d fed you from a silver spoon all your life,” he lowered his voice, mumbling. “Certainly fucking act like it.”

“Yeah right dude. You’re not gettin’ my tragic backstory that easily.”

Wilbur stiffened. “I really don’t care that much. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

Techno turned sharply, eyes flaring, and Wilbur had struck a nerve. “I know your type. ‘Oh, I’m a problem kid, I can say whatever the fuck I want ‘cause no one cares about me enough to listen-“

“Shut the fuck up-“

“Just cause it’s your first day doesn’t mean you deserve anything, you’re doin’ all this shit and then complainin’ about _me_ being fed with a goddamn silver spoon-“

“I didn’t _ask_ to get dropped off here, you-“

“ _I_ don’t need some dropout loner _kid_ tellin’ me not to overestimate myself-“

“And what? You gonna go complain to your dad? Like he actually _wants_ you?”

Silence. Wilbur shifted, opened his mouth (he didn’t really know what he was going to say), but then he was slammed into the wall behind him and _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck no no stop please I’m sorry_

Techno was breathing heavily. “ _Get the fuck out of my room._ ” He tightened his grip on Wilbur’s shirt. “Get the _FUCK_ out of my room! No one fucking wants you!”

Wilbur whimpered, eyes screwed shut. He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, Techno dropped him, and he scrambled to his feet and bolted.

And then he was sitting on the floor of a tiny bathroom, eyes blurry and unfocused. Drifting. And _really_ , Techno was right, wasn’t he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur meets lots of people. Tommy laments. Tubbo doesn't really know what to do in any situation, but still manages to be the most mature out of all of them. This isn't beta'ed and it's barely edited and I wrote it in like twenty minutes but enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun (: I'm writing this when I should be studying for my German speaking exam, which is tomorrow (:(:(: everything is f i n e

When Tubbo was thirteen and a dumbass, his sibling made him go to a movie theatre to get him _‘out of the house for a while, you’ve been sitting at that computer for hours, Tub’_. He hadn’t really wanted to watch the movie; it was something Eret and Niki wanted to watch, something real-life and biographical and _boring_ , and Tubbo was thirteen and he really just wanted to watch something with dragons in it, or at least a skeleton army or something. So he snuck away, and ran into the bad kid at his school, and made friends, and all of a sudden he was accidentally pulled into the life of resident chaos-boy Tommy Innit-Watson.

Honestly? He thought it was the best accident of his life.

He found out that Tommy had been adopted by Mr Watson, who lived just up the street, and was having trouble fitting in. He found out that Tommy liked the colour red because it was _‘the brightest_ and _the best colour, Tubbo.’_ He found out that Phil was really nice and would bake them cookies if Tubbo was sleeping over, and that the infamous Techno wasn’t really that scary, even if Tubbo had watched him beat up multiple school bullies with no remorse on many an occasion. He found out that, if you were liked by the Watson family, they wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

_(“That sounds like the Mafia, Tubbo.”_

_“Shut up Eret! They’re just a very protective family with connections, who happen to be from the foster system, and who also happen to be incredibly good at fighting.”_

_“Yeah, alright. Just making sure.”)_

It wasn’t all amazing though. Tommy got scared sometimes, scared of something in his past that Tubbo was too aware to not ask about. When he got scared, Tubbo found out that all he wanted was someone to sit and talk to him, but he tried to hide it by getting angry (Eret said they took a psychology course for a while for school, and they said that it was probably a defence mechanism Tommy used to cover the fact that he was very scared of lots of things). So, when Tommy got scared and angry and looked like he wanted to punch a wall, Tubbo would just sit with him and talk about whatever came to mind until Tommy’s hands stopped clenching and he stopped looking like he was fighting his own fight-or-flight instinct, and then they’d go get ice cream, or something.

So, there he was. Sitting on one end of Tommy’s bed, playing Smash Bros. and trying to ignore how tense the house was.

“So, uh. I’m assuming Phil didn’t tell you he was coming?”

“No, Tubbo.” Tommy’s hand twitched around the controller. “He didn’t tell us he was coming.”

“Oh.” Tubbo sighed. Adults were dumb. “Did you know you were gonna get another brother?”

Tommy huffed, pausing the game and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed. “Yeah, yeah. He told us everything, it had all been figured out and Tech ‘n’ I had agreed and stuff. It’s just… like, do we really _need_ another one? It was fine with just us. We were fine. Weren’t we?” Tommy shifted. “We totally were. It was just the three of us, and it was cool. But then Dad was all like, ‘hey, there’s this kid and he’s sad and we should have him’ or whatever, and it’s just like…” Tommy trailed off.

“It’s like you aren’t enough?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy nodded. “Exactly! It doesn’t make sense, why would Dad need him? Who needs three kids, anyway?”

“As the third child, I take offense to that statement.”

“Not _you_ , you’re fine. But like, we all saw his file. _Eleven_ houses, Tubbo. Eleven! That’s kinda problematic, not gonna lie.”

Tubbo hummed. “Well, you were pretty problematic when you first came, if I remember right. Maybe he’s got some… I dunno, some weird fantasy adventure that he needed to go on, ‘n’ that’s why he’s gone through so many houses.”

Tommy huffed a laugh. “Maybe he’s an alien. It would explain why he’s so tall. And such a bitch.”

“Hey,” Tubbo lifted himself up into a sitting position, looking at Tommy. “Maybe he was just overwhelmed. You know how scary moving families is. Besides,” _Oh God this might go badly._ “You did kind of throw him in the deep end, with you ‘n’ Techno fighting straight away.”

“Yeah, but… _Ugh_.” Tommy held his head in his hands, groaning. “I just don’t _understand_. What’s wrong with Tech ‘n’ I that Dad had to get another son? I just hope he goes soon.”

Tubbo cringed internally. “Don’t say that. Maybe he’s nice.”

“He’s _not_.” Tommy glared at him. “He’s a bitch. I can tell.”

Tubbo sighed. Tommy was like this sometimes, when there were big changes. He hated them, always had. He had told Tubbo that when people made changes, it felt like they were taking the ability to make decisions away from him, and Tubbo knew that was a sore spot for him. Tubbo also knew it was something to do with the foster system because Techno did the same thing—Tubbo had once told him, jokingly, that the school was changing the curriculum and Tubbo swore Techno almost attacked him—and that meant the Watson family was like an atomic bomb when it came down to things changing: you knew it was going to go off at some point, you just didn’t know when. “Alright, all I’m saying is give him a chance. Anyways, I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Tubbo hopped off the bed, hearing the quiet _‘Mhm_ ’ he got from Tommy.

When Tubbo opened the door to the bathroom, he was promptly kicked. Which, under normal circumstances would hurt, but Tubbo ignored the pain for the minute because in front of him was Wilbur, and he was sitting in the corner of the tiny bathroom, all curled up and breathing far too quickly. _Oh. Uh oh. Um…_

“Uh, hey…”

Wilbur gasped, curled into himself tighter. Tubbo glanced around at the hallway; it was empty, Phil was downstairs, Tommy was in his room and Techno was in his, presumably. Wilbur was shaking like a leaf, tucked impossibly close to the He weighed up his options.

_So, I leave him here. Get Phil, hope nothing bad happens until then. Or…_

“Uh, hey dude. I’m not gonna go near you, alright? I’m just gonna sit here for a while, is that okay?”

Wilbur hesitated, nodded jerkily, and that was a good sign, at least. Tubbo didn’t think he could handle Wilbur being nonverbal. He slid down the wall slowly, and vaguely wished Eret or Niki or even Fundy was here so that he didn’t have to be in charge.

“Uh, I’m Tubbo, by the way. I’m Tommy’s best friend, I think.” Tubbo knew he was rambling, but Fundy once said that in the animal shelter he worked at, they would sometimes just ramble nonsense to the animals to keep them calm. “I live just up the road, ‘n’ I’ve got three siblings. Uh, I’m the youngest—I’m fourteen, by the way—and Eret’s the oldest. They’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, I think. They’re sixteen, but their birthday’s in a couple weeks. After Eret, there’s Niki and Fundy. They’re your age, I think, fifteen. They’re twins, but you wouldn’t know, ‘cause they’re absolutely nothing alike, and they don’t even _look_ alike. Niki’s really sweet, she always does my maths homework when I’m to tired to do it myself. She volunteers ‘n’ stuff, I swear she does so much for this town. Oh, and Fundy’s a bastard.” Tubbo giggled.

Wilbur looked a little calmer, and Tubbo grinned despite himself. “Obviously, I don’t really mean that. He’s really cool, great at coding. Once, he made me a plugin for Minecraft that turned foxes into death stars!”

Wilbur looked up slowly, and Tubbo nearly cried. It had been getting awkward with just his rambles. “You play Minecraft?”

He grinned. “Yeah! Lots of us do. It was one of those weird crazes at our school, like… I dunno, like that loom band craze or something. Or pokemon cards. Or, like… anyway, my whole family does, and so do Techno and Tommy. We have our own SMP that one of Eret’s friends started, I bet I could get them to get Dream to let you on-“

“Tubbo! Big man, what’s taking you so long? You’ve been- oh. It’s you.” Tommy stopped in the door of the bathroom, stared at Wilbur with an unreadable expression. “I’d _ask_ if you were alright, but obviously you don’t appreciate that.” He snarked. Wilbur looked away, face stony. He didn’t reply.

Tubbo sighed. “Tommy, could you go get Phil?”

“Why should I? _This_ isn’t my fault. Go get Techno to do it.”

Wilbur visibly cringed at the mention of Techno. His head snapped over to Tommy, looking at him scared; terrified. “ _Don’t_ get Techno. Don’t, please, I-. Please. It’s-he-“ Wilbur had started gasping again, looking at Tommy as if he was about to be attacked, and Tubbo realised with a deep, sinking feeling that he probably assumed he _would_ be.

“Boys?” And thank _God_ for Phil, because his timing really couldn’t be better. When he walked into the tiny bathroom (Tubbo vaguely wondered why it was so small – it barely fit just he and Wilbur, and now Tommy _and_ Phil were squished in as well), he took one look at the three of them and ushered Tommy and Tubbo out from the bathroom. “Alright boys, dinner’s in fifteen. Give me a second.”

“Dad! Can I-“

“Sorry Tommy, I’ll be with you in a minute, okay? I’ve just got to do this for a second, and then we can talk.”

“I-“ the door of the bathroom shut harshly. Tommy fell silent.

The hallway was quiet, then, only disturbed by soft words on the other side of the door. Tommy stood stock still, shoulders rigid and fists clenched. “Tommy?”

When he turned, his eyes were cool, flinty; Tubbo hadn’t seen him with that look for years. “I’m _fine._ I’m fine. I don’t care. I just…” He trailed off again, and this time Tubbo didn’t know what he was trying to say.

* * *

It had been an hour.

Wilbur was sitting, alone and silent, on a forest green couch in Phil’s living room. The couch had three pillows, with a fluffy blanket draped along one side. It wasn’t like the itchy, cheap thing in Family Eleven’s living room, but it also wasn’t like the pristine leather fold-out couch-bed that Family Eight refused to let him sit on, and Wilbur let himself feel relieved at that (he could never decide whether he preferred the poverty of Family Eleven, or the overbearing, greedy richness of Family Eight. They were both the same, really, just two sides of the same coin). It was well cared for, but there were little things that showed its use. The second button from the back of the middle pillow was missing, and there was a bright stain standing out in the corner of the pillow furthest to the right that looked vaguely like Slovenia.

It was so _lived in_.

Phil was pretending to give Wilbur space. He was pottering around the kitchen, had been for the past hour, getting out plates and cups and cutlery and pointedly refusing to fully turn his body to face him. But Wilbur could feel his eyes, trained on his back like a hawk. Waiting for something to happen. That, Wilbur assumed, was why he was so dead set on staying so still it hardly looked like he was breathing. Keeping so small that he was almost invisible, making sure his eyes were downcast, staring at the Slovenia stain like it had kicked his proverbial dog.

He wondered, dimly, how the other two were doing. They obviously didn’t like him (he couldn’t blame them, not really), but that didn’t particularly faze Wilbur. He was going to be leaving in a few months, anyway, so there wasn’t really any point in making friends.

He was supposed to be sharing a room with Techno. _Ha. Like that’s gonna happen_. Techno had grabbed him, lifted him up and pushed him and logically, Wilbur knew it was only a matter of time before _someone_ in the family got fed up with his mouth and decided to punch it shut but he didn’t expect it to happen on the _first goddamn day_.

Maybe he was overestimating himself. Maybe somewhere, tucked away in the back of his head, past all the dark corners and the memories and the guilt and regret, there was a tiny sliver of hope that this house wouldn’t be like the others. Maybe he had been lulled into Phil’s warm exterior, with his smiles and easy laughs, maybe he thought he’d be able to survive. Maybe his walls had fallen. _Well, if there’s one fucking thing I’m good at, it’s building walls_.

When Phil turned around to side-eye him again, he must have noticed Wilbur glaring at the stain. “Oh, sorry. Meant to get that cleaned a while back. Techno was staying up late doing homework, when he accidentally spilled all his coffee,” Phil laughed. “When I tell you the kid looked like he was three seconds from crying, I’m not even joking.”

Wilbur hummed quietly. “Looks like Slovenia.”

“Does it?” Phil squinted over at the stain. “Can’t say I know what Slovenia looks like, to be honest. I was never that good at geography.”

“It’s a country in Europe. Near Austria and Hungary. Its flag looks kinda like Russia’s, ‘cept Slovenia’s one has a little picture of mountains in the corner.” Wilbur blushed. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine! I think you taught me more about geography than my teacher did back at school. Granted, I never really paid attention in that class, so it wasn’t really the teacher’s fault.” He set down the pan he had been washing. “Do you like countries then, Wilbur?”

Wilbur hesitated. His other families never wanted to know what he was interested in. “Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.

Phil just smiled at him again. “That’s cool. Are there any other subjects you’re interested in?”

“I-“ _why is he doing this why is he doing this what is he trying to figure out_ “I like writing, too. And music, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I used to play guitar.” His hand twitched. Something zapped down the back of his spine, making him arch slightly. “Haven’t played in ages though. Not since-” _Not since._ "Yeah."

“Would you like to play again? I’m sure I could figure out somewhere you could get lessons, and Techno’s got-“

Phil’s smile was too kind. He was being too nice, why was he being nice? Wilbur hadn’t done anything wrong had he? Why was he pretending to care? “No. I don’t.”

His smile faltered minutely. “O-oh. That’s alright.”

The room fell silent again. It felt too tight, the air was too hot and his face was burning and everything was so quiet but it felt like there was roaring in his ears and he _couldn’t_ let Phil’s eyes follow him around anymore or he was going to fucking _cry_.

His voice was scratchy when he spoke. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

He made Phil jump. He turned, a small glass in his hand. His eyes softened. “Of course. You’re not in a classroom, Wilbur. This is your home now, you don’t need to ask to go to the toilet. There’s one on this floor, just up the hallway and over to the right.”

“Oh. Okay.” He stood up, tore his eyes away from the Slovenia stain, and left. Phil’s eyes left him, but the room still felt too hot, too dry, not enough air. He could feel the weight of Tommy and Phil and Techno and hell, even Tubbo, all pressing into him from all sides and something lodged in the back of his throat and it hurt to breathe.

There was an open window in the bathroom. It wasn’t far from the ground, but when his socked feet touched the grass outside and he began running down the lane to who-knows-where, the oppressive weight still clung to his back and around his lungs.

His first mistake was closing his eyes. Really, he should’ve known that the universe would immediately try to fuck him over the moment he tried to get some peace, and who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to close their eyes while running, anyway?

The body he ran face first into was warm, and that was the first thing he thought. The second thing (if Wilbur was counting it as a singular thought, rather than a jumbled mess of words and emotions) was _ohfuckinghellgoddamnit why the fuck did I close my eyes who the fuck does that fuckin’ bet it’s some little old lady and she’s gonna have some fuckin cardiac arrest type bullshit and die I’m gonna go to fuckin’ jail ‘cause I killed a lady by sheer force of stupidity fuck-_

The third thing he thought was: _Ow. Fuck. Pavement hurts._

“Hey, dumbass, watch where you’re goin’ before you- you’re new!” The guy in front of him—thankfully not a little old lady— sat up straight. “I know everyone in this town, done business with every kid under eighteen on this street. Either you’re really far from home, or you’re new, ‘cause I’ve got eyes everywhere in this town, and I’ve never seen you.” He stuck out his hand and brushed a strand of curly, dark hair away from his face. “I’m Schlatt. Pleasure doin’ business with ya, kid.”

Wilbur probably looked just as dumbstruck as he felt. “Uh, we didn’t do business? Did I miss something?”

Schlatt rolled his eyes. “We haven’t done business _yet_ , dude. Never say never-“

“I never said never.”

He looked at Wilbur blankly. Then, he grinned. “You just did. Checkmate. Anyways, I think you should probably take my hand, ‘cause it’s getting kinda awkward, and the sidewalk doesn’t look really comfortable right now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Wilbur tentatively took Schlatt’s hand, who pulled him up with just a touch too much force. He ripped his hand away just slightly too apprehensively to be normal, but Schlatt just continued talking.

“So, where d’ya come from-Holy fuck, you’re fuckin’ tall as shit!” Indeed, Wilbur towered over Schlatt. He awkwardly looked at the ground, but Schlatt paid it no mind. “That’s alright dude, that just means we’ll have to work around it durin’ the heist.”

_What the fuck?_ “I’m sorry, heist?”

“Yeah.” Schlatt said easily. He grinned at Wilbur. “See, you’re new, right? So, what I’m sayin’, is we cause some trouble. God knows this town needs a little more- uh, _pizzaz_ , ya know?”

Wilbur didn’t know, and expressed these feelings clearly, but Schlatt waved him off. “Look, kid. You’re up from Phil’s place, yeah? That’s why you’re new. You’re part of Phil’s family now—which is great! Good for you, man, Phil’s a great guy and Techno’s… tolerable—but let’s face it. You probably don’t have any friends. No offence. But here’s the deal: we go up to the local mall. I’ve got a couple of friends who can help us play a couple little pranks, nothing major ‘n’ nothing too illegal, then we leave and you already have, like, at least one friend to call your own!” He stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Wilbur considered. It wouldn’t do much for his relationship with Phil and Techno and Tommy. But if they were going to kick him out anyway, what was the point of even trying? Besides, Schlatt seemed friendly, and he was short enough that Wilbur assumed if they ever began to fight, he could probably just drop kick him. For the first time in years, Wilbur felt relaxed around someone. Even if that particular someone had just asked him to commit various unspecified crimes.

Despite this, Wilbur smiled slyly. “And what am I getting from this?”

Schlatt sputtered. “The fuck do you mean, ‘what am I getting from this’? I literally just told you, you’d get to be my friend!”

“Am I not your friend?” Wilbur wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’m hurt, Schlatt. Absolutely heartbroken, I don’t think I can go on.”

Schlatt groaned, but he was laughing like a madman. “Alright, alright, no need to bring out the dramatics. How about…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You get to be my friend, and I’ll also ensure that my other friends like you, and uh… five bucks.”

“Ten.”

“ _Five_.”

“Okay, seven.”

“Zero.”

“Five it is.”

“Deal.” They shook on it, and Schlatt nodded happily. “Alright, I’ll tell you all the details on the way.”

They walked, but Wilbur couldn’t help but wonder what Phil was thinking at that moment. Was he worried? Upset? Angry? Did he care at all?

Did he notice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but add in Schlatt, I just love the way he and Wilbur bounce of each other when they're doing bits, if ya know what I mean.
> 
> New chap yay! So now we have more details about the fam, and lil details about Tubbo's fam, and Schlatt is causeing chaos already! But what about Phil???? What is he going to do about the fact that his child has already run away??????? I don't fuckin know why are you asking me I'm writing this completely on the fly shut the fuck up and fight me
> 
> Love y'all! Comments and kudos appreciated :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur is tired, and he and Techno are two sides of the same coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day???? What the fuck???? It's a shorter chapter, but my brain couldn't stop going "hey hey hey hey marvelous mall misadventures of Schlatt and Wilbur ft. assorted youtubers" and I'm excited about this fic.  
> I'm really bored. Also my German exam went well I think (:
> 
> New characters! Don't worry if you don't know them very well, they're like, barely involved with the rest of the fic. I just needed Schlatt to have friends and thought "Hey, the misfits are kinda cool" ALSO I FORGOT I DIDN'T GIVE WILBUR SHOES I'M FUCKIN DUMB Y'ALL

“So, how old are you, kid?”

They had been walking for about a half hour, and Schlatt hadn’t shut up since. He hadn’t treated Wilbur any different, didn’t treat him like he was a problem kid or made of glass, didn't treat him like he was 'That Poor Kid'. He had treated Wilbur like a normal person, someone he had known for years, not a fucked up little foster kid who he had met that day.

“I’m fifteen.”

“Oh, shit, same. Bet I’m older, though.” Schlatt hopped over a crack in the road absentmindedly. “Anyways, where d’ya come from? You seem like the type of kid to know your way ‘round. That’s why I took a likin’ to you, you look like the type of guy that could charm a cop. You look like a Virgo or something, I dunno.”

“Uh-“ Wilbur looked at his feet. He still wasn’t wearing shoes. “I don’t know what being a Virgo means. I was born in September, if that helps. I just got here today. Didn’t even know Phil wanted me ‘til this morning, when I met him.”

“They didn’t tell you? That’s kinda fucked, I think.”

He shrugged. “Been through eleven houses in my life. They don’t really tell me anything nowadays. No one feels the need anymore.”

“Damn, that sucks dude.” Schlatt turned to face him. “Listen, there’s only one thing I hate more than Virgos.”

“I thought I was a Virgo?”  
“You are—I knew before you even told me your birthday, I’m cool like that—but you’re a _cool_ Virgo. Like, you’ve probably got a Libra moon or something.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Schlatt waved him off. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, there’s only one thing I hate more than Virgos, and that’s adults who don’t tell you shit. Old people think that they can just pat us on the head ‘n’ say ‘oh, you’ll understand when you’re older’ or some shit like that and we’ll forget about it. That’s why me ‘n’ my friends do what we do. Cause some trouble, get all the middle-aged white suburban moms angry, then we leave with another victory under our belts. Stick it to the man, y’know? It’s fun, and it makes the property value of this whole town go down. Win-win.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Why is it a win for you if the property value goes down?”

“Because,” Schlatt grinned, throwing his arms out dramatically. “When I get old enough, I’m gonna buy this whole place out. The whole town, I’m gonna swindle my way so I barely have to pay a cent. Then, I’m gonna sell it as some big holiday town to all of the rich fucks who think it’s cute, and those guys don’t know a _thing_ about what’s the right price, so I’m gonna sell it to them _way_ overpriced. Pretty good idea, if you ask me.”

Wilbur snickered. “I could see it,” he said. “’Mr J. Schlatt, businessman extraordinaire’. ‘S got a good ring.”

“What’s the J?”

“Uh… dunno.” He snorted. “Jerry. Or Jesus.”

Schlatt smiled. “Jesus Schlatt. Good name, Virgo.” He looked up, and his eyes brightened. “We’re here.”

The mall in front of them was quaint. It was a few stories tall, with a small plaza in front. The doors felt vaguely slimy when Wilbur grabbed the handle (the kind of slimy most public doors felt, where you couldn’t _really_ tell if it was sticky or slippery, and you refused to try and figure out what else had touched it), and they were dotted in a few little graffitied engravings here and there.

Schlatt walked in as if he felt right at home. “This, Wilbur… what was your last name?”

“Soot.”

He smirked. “Cool. Never met someone called ‘Soot’ before. Anyways, this, Wilbur Soot, is my gang’s playground: the town mall.”

“Oi, Schlatt!” A shout rang out through the mall. A girl, with dyed purple hair and thick eyelashes, ran towards them. “Schlatt, you’re fuckin’ late! We were gonna start without you if you took any longer.”

“Don’t you dare start without me Minx, you know I run this show. Anyway,” he pulled Wilbur forward, who tried very hard not to trip. “This is Wilbur. He’s runnin’ with us for a while, he’s new in town.”

The girl—Minx—looked him up and down, not unkindly. “Sup, you’re not wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, he’s not, but we still support him. Where’s Carson?”

Minx groaned. “Who fuckin’ knows, mate. He ditched me for the Misfits again.”

“Misfits?” Wilbur was confused.

“Oh, you don’t know ‘em.” Schlatt turned to Wilbur. “They’re assholes. Fitz’s almost as tall as you, but you could probably fuckin' punt Swagger. They’re not too stupid, most of the time. They’ll like you.” He turned back to Minx. “Carson’s with _them_?”

“Yup.” Minx said, popping the ‘p’.

“ _Christ_. Fine, we’ll go lookin’ for him. Come on Virgo, you’re comin’ with us.”

The rest of the day was a blur. Wilbur met more people than he could ever remember meeting, and the people were _loud_. They yelled and they made jokes, and they roared in laughter at the jokes they made even if they weren’t that funny. He found out the Misfits was just the name for a group of kids his age, and he found out that Schlatt, Minx and Carson were almost honorary members. They ran around the mall, causing trouble wherever they went, until the sun was beginning to go down outside and Wilbur had completely forgotten about Phil and Tommy and Techno and Family Eleven. With Schlatt and the others he wasn’t a foster kid, he was just Wilbur.

He loved it. And when Schlatt pulled Wilbur into the fountain, screaming about global warming and the water rising, Wilbur just laughed along with them (well, he laughed until the mall’s security guard started yelling at them, at which point he was laughing while running for his life). _If this is what it’s gonna be like while I’m still here,_ he thought, _then maybe I might actually be able to survive living with Phil._

God, Wilbur guessed, hated him, because the moment he thought that, he noticed a blur of pink hair, looking everywhere. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.”

“What’s up Wilbur? You seem- oh shit.” Schlatt followed Wilbur’s line of sight, sucking in a breath. “That’s Technoblade. Your brother.”

“We’re not related.”

“Whatever. He’s looking for you isn’t he? _Jesus_ , dude, did you sneak out?” The whole group was looking now, and Wilbur felt panic rising in his throat.

“He’s gonna kill me. _Shit_. I-“

“Hey, hey dude, it’s fine. We’ll protect you. Get behind Fitz, he hasn’t seen you yet. Everyone, scrunch together. Pretend we’re penguins. Sharin’ body heat and all that.”

“That’s fucking gay, Schlatt.”

“Shut the fuck up Mason. Kryoz, Smitty, get in here. Operation: get Wilbur the fuck away from Techno is a go.”

“Get who away from who?” Wilbur froze. Techno sounded bored, but there was a simmering sense of anger behind it. Someone—Toby?—shoved him further into the group.

Schlatt chuckled nervously. “Techno! We weren’t expecting to see The Blade here today, were we guys?” Various noises of agreements sounded throughout the group. Wilbur held his breath. He had figured out that Schlatt was good at talking, almost unfairly so, but he didn't know how long he could hold out against Techno.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever Schlatt. I’m lookin’ for Wilbur, have you seen him?”

“Wilbur? Who’s Wilbur? Never heard of him. Making people up again, are you Blade?” Schlatt inspected his fingernails boredly.

Techno raised an eyebrow. “He’s just a kid Phil picked up. Doesn’t actually matter too much.” He leaned into the group conspiratorially. “He’s a _problem kid_ , you know?”

“Hey! Fuck you, Wilbur’s cool!”

“ _Minx!_ ”

Techno smirked. “Cool. So, where is he?”

Schlatt sputtered. “Uh, well, you see-“

"Listen, kid." Techno growled. "I've spent _ages_ lookin' for this guy. Just tell me where he is, and I'll be on my way."

"Uh-"

Suddenly, Carson stepped forward. “Hey Technoblade.”

Techno’s face fell. “Carson, _no_. Don’t fuckin’ do this to me again.”

“That’s funny, Technoblade.”

“ _No._ ”

Schlatt grinned, and joined in. “Hey Technoblade.”

" _Stop it!_ " He groaned, and for a moment Wilbur thought he might make it out of this alive.

"Of course, Technoblade."

Lots of things happened at once. Techno scowled, Schlatt and Carson both had shit-eating grins on their faces. Then, Techno lightly shoved Schlatt. Not roughly, more joking than anything, but Schlatt wasn’t expecting it and fell backwards, hitting Carson on the way. Carson then fell onto Smitty, who who fell onto Swagger, who fell onto Fitz, and then they were all on the floor and Wilbur was being yanked to his feet by the back of his sweater and Techno looked _angry_.

“You _asshole_. Do you _know_ how worried Phil is?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, feeling his stomach and chest begin to be engulfed in angry flames. _How dare Techno pretend he’s better than me. How dare he._ “ _Oh no_ , Phil’s sad that his kid’s punching bag ran away and now he has to waste his time looking. I feel terrible.”

Techno’s eyes widened, the grip on Wilbur’s sweater loosening in surprise. “You think Phil thinks you’re my… you’re not my punching bag.”

Wilbur took the opportunity to tear his way from Techno’s grip. “That’s the second time today you’ve _attacked_ me, and we’ve only known each other for like, three hours. Forgive me if I’m lead to believe that you’re a _massive fucking prick_.”

Techno was silent for a minute, expression genuinely surprised. Then, his face hardened again. “Phil’s waiting in the car. Get your ass in gear, we’re going.”

Wilbur tensed. Phil was waiting for him? Why was he waiting for him? Was he angry?

He took a deep breath. Then, feigning nonchalance, he turned to the group, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry, guys. I, uh, didn’t mean to put you all through so much trouble.”

From the floor, Minx laughed. “Nah dude, today’s been the funniest time I’ve had in months. These fucks’re getting stale.”

“Fuck you, Minx.” Schlatt heaved himself up, pulling a pen out of his pocket quickly. “Gimme your hand, I’ll give you my number. Text me, ‘n’ I’ll add you to the group chat, alright?” He whispered. Wilbur nodded, then waved goodbye to the others.

“See you next time, Virgo!”

* * *

Techno had to call Phil to pick them up. Apparently, the minute he noticed Wilbur was gone, he had immediately known he would end up meeting Schlatt and the others, and he, Techno, and Tommy had all been looking for him for hours. Apparently Schlatt was known for befriending every kid along their street.

Wilbur was panicking. Phil would be _so_ angry, and Wilbur still didn’t know what Phil did when he was angry, but he could make a pretty good guess. This was big, wasn’t it? _God_ , it was still only the first day, why did he think it would be a good idea to do this? They couldn’t take him away after the first day, they _wouldn’t_ , they didn’t care about him, no one cared about him. That meant he would be with Phil, and Phil was angry, and when adults were angry, they were _violent_ , and it was still the first day, how had he already managed to mess up so bad?

The worst thing was, he actually _wanted_ to be good. He wanted to be normal. But he wasn’t. He was fucked up, just a traumatised little kid who just wanted someone to tell him he was loved, but knew he didn’t deserve it. He knew he didn’t deserve it, so why did he keep telling himself? Why did he keep a tiny ray of hope that someone would come, pick him up and hold him, tell him he was worth something? Why did he hold his breath for something he didn’t deserve, wouldn’t get, couldn’t get near?

When Techno spoke, Wilbur just about jumped out of his skin. “I didn’t mean to call you a problem child.” Techno said quietly, pointedly staring into the middle distance, away from Wilbur. “I wouldn’t have, if I didn’t know Minx would mess up and rat you out.”

Something clicked inside of Wilbur's head. “You knew I was there.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

Wilbur felt his face burn, felt something hot and writhing bubble up his chest, into his throat, claw at his eyes until they watered. “Then _why’d_ you have to make Minx mess up? Why not just push them out of the way? Why'd you need to say it if you _knew_? Why say- why did you need- why-“ One day, Wilbur wished he would be able to finish a sentence without everything getting too much, without his own fear stopping him. Phil was going to kill him.

“I’m _sorry_ , okay?” Techno threw his hands up. “I don’t know why I- why I needed to do that. I just… I’m sorry. I screwed up. It’s my fault. Mine! You didn’t do anything, you were actin’ fuckin’ _exactly_ how I would act in your situation, and I dunno, maybe that’s what scared me? I don’t _know_! I-I don’t-“ He took a shuddering breath, and for a second Wilbur felt like all he was really looking at was the other side of his own coin.

That's all they were, really. He could try to pretend that he was different to Techno, that he wasn't as angry, as reckless. But he was. It was the mark of the system, the curse of the kids who had to grow up too fast. He could pretend that Techno was different, but he wasn't.

_Really, we're all just Icarus without wings, aren't we?_

He chuckled weakly. “Jesus, we make a pair. A couple of screwed up kids, fighting for no reason and pretending we're different.”

Techno huffed, saying dryly "Just two guys with God complexes try'na make it work." Wilbur laughed. Then there was silence between them. Neither of them talked, or tried to pretend, or put on masks. They just watched each other, and slowly, both of their walls crumbled.

Techno was the one to break the silence, and his words were gentle, like a promise. “Phil’s not angry. Really, he isn’t. I did the first thing on my first day here too.”

"Really?"

"Yeah. I-"

“Wilbur!” Suddenly, he was pulled into someone’s arms. “Fuck, Wil, I was so worried, I saw the window and I knew that you had- hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Wilbur was thrashing, trying to get out of Phil’s grip. _He’sgonnakillmehe’sgonnakillmehe’sgonnakillmehe-_

“Wil. Wilbur, I need you to look at me.” He was suddenly removed from Phil’s grasp, and he was looking into red-pink eyes and there were two gentle hands on his shoulders and Techno was looking at him like it was the first time he was _really_ seeing him. “You’re alright, you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you. I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?” Techno exaggerated his breaths, moving one of Wilbur’s hands to his heart. “Feel my heartbeat. You’re okay. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?”

He heaved in a breath. He clung to Techno, screwed his eyes shut, and let his voice wash over him. “That’s it, you’re fine. You’re doin’ good. I’m proud of you.”

And _Jesus_ , he must have been touch starved, because that single sentence was the one to make him break down. “F-fuck,” He whispers. “ _Fuck_.”

Techno chuckles. “Yeah, fuck.”

He can feel Techno begin to tense, begin to get awkward, so he slowly lets go. “S-sorry. I’m sorry.” They look away from each other, and Techno doesn’t respond, and their moment passed.

Suddenly, Wilbur remembered Phil. “Oh. Uh…” He looked at his hands. “Sorry. For, uh. Running away.”

Phil smiled, but it looked strained. He kept looking between Wilbur and Techno, as is contemplating something. “It’s alright Wil, I-“

“Wilbur.” He felt like he was on autopilot. He was so, so tired.

“Wilbur, sorry. It’s alright, I’m not angry. We’re just going to wait for Tommy, and then we’re going home, okay? We don’t need to talk about this ever again, if you want. You can rest. You’ve had a big day.”

It sounded like a promise. It sounded defeated. It sounded like a million things, and Wilbur was so tired, and he just wanted to rest. _He wanted to go home_.

_Where was home?_

“Yeah. O-okay.”

When Tommy came, he was silent. That struck Wilbur as odd. Tommy didn’t seem like the quiet type. The drive home was silent, too. Techno was rigid as stone, looking decidedly out the window at the moon, which was slowly rising over the horizon. Phil looked conflicted. Tommy looked confused. Wilbur couldn’t find it in him to feel anything, and when they got home and he and Techno were alone in the room that he hadn’t been in since he had been showed around, and he was struck with the realization that it only took a few hours, a few words, for a person’s relationship with someone to change completely.

Techno looked like he wanted to say something. He even opened his mouth. But then the moment passed, and Wilbur turned to face the wall, and tried to sleep. He was so tired. He couldn’t sleep. He wanted to go home.

Rooms away, down the corridor, Phil was in his bed. Thoughts were running through his head like a blizzard, but one thought kept coming back to the front of his mind, becoming more and more prominent with every minute he couldn't sleep.

_How could he fix this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur: hey my life's fucked up  
> Techno: lmao same  
> Wilbur and Techno: *solidarity achieved*
> 
> Maybe in the next chapter Wilbur will have shoes on. Who knows, not me. Now that the first day is over, we can get into the good stuff yay :D also the part about star signs is 100% accurate even though I don't believe in astrology
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bigass fuckin timeskip folks, for a kind of smallish chapter. Also, small TW for,,,,,,,,, kinda suicidal thoughts I guess? There's a lil bit about wanting to disappear, idk if that counts. Stay safe y'all

Wilbur lasted four weeks and six days until the next major incident, which was pretty good if he said so himself. He knew this because he counted.

(it was so long that he almost relaxed, almost let himself have hope. But then he remembered himself, remembered everything, and remembered _almost_ wasn’t real.)  
  


It’s not that he was waiting for it to happen. It was just inevitable. He was never meant to live a happy life, he knew that. He knew it just as well as he knew the sky was blue, knew it just as well as he knew the world was inevitably, ineffably against him. It didn’t matter how kind people were to him; it didn’t matter how normal Schlatt treated him, or how kind—albeit rather conflicted-looking, at times—Phil was. It didn’t matter how much he tried. He was inevitably worthless, had been worthless from the moment he was born, was worthless the day his mother left him behind to find a better life, a better son, and he would never change from what he was until the day he inevitably died. _Inevitable, inevitable, inevitable._

“Wil?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re starin’.”

Techno had stuck to him like glue. Wilbur was used to being alone; the other houses were never kind to him, and even if there were other children, he was left by himself more often than not. But Techno was different. Wilbur learnt, in the three weeks of relative peace, that Techno was only older than him by a few months, and that he had been through lots of homes too (not as many as Wilbur, but from the way Techno never really turned his back to anyone and how tense he was when there was more than three people in the same room as him, just as bad). He learnt that his parents had been ‘experts in underground-off-the-grid weapons and substance trading’ (his words, not Wilbur’s – he had learnt not to ask what that meant), and that they had been arrested because of it. He learnt that Techno was an excellent fighter, but he also learnt that Techno loved reading and history. He learnt that he didn’t sleep that much, but when he did, he could barely be woken, and he learnt that if Techno really, _really_ wanted to, he could talk for hours on end without so much as a breath.

He learnt that Techno was fiercely loyal to his family, and Wilbur simply _refused_ to acknowledge the little spark of hope in his chest that maybe, _maybe,_ even if he was still fairly certain that Tommy hated him, Techno would ~~protect~~ feel bad when he inevitably was kicked out.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t. Bad day?”

In turn, Techno learnt more about Wilbur than he had ever even considered sharing: he knew about how Wilbur always looked at the little details before taking in everyone else, and that Wilbur loved the colour yellow because it reminded him of music. He knew that Wilbur loved psychology and weaving stories and tales in his head like they were tangible. He knew that Wilbur sometimes felt like the world was against him. He knew that Wilbur didn’t naturally trust people, and that he hated the cold, but was cold often. It had been three weeks of living in the same room, eating the same food, waking each other up from nightmares and sitting with each other in silence until 3am, because sometimes neither of them could sleep and it was easier to sit and breathe together than it was to pretend they were okay alone.

“Kinda.” Wilbur sighed. “It’s… it’s quiet. I don’t like it,” he shifted. The light of the mid-morning sun was in his eyes—he had to squint to see Techno, perched on his bed on the other side of their room—and there was a smell in the air that promised rain in the afternoon, though it was still sunny. Despite the warmth of the summer, Wilbur felt a shiver run down his spine (he was often cold, but he never really got used to it. Sort of like moving houses a lot. You know that it’s coming, but it’s still almost a shock when it happens). He picked at the strings of his bedsheets, wondering vaguely if he had the energy to grab a sweater. “I dunno. I’m tired.”

Techno raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly, but Wilbur knew it wasn’t malicious. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

It wasn’t a question. Wilbur scowled. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You were awake too, I saw you.”

At that, Techno looked away, guilty. They lapsed into silence for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it rarely ever was. They both understood that words weren’t always needed, and neither of them appreciated rambling over something significant. It was simultaneously a blessing and a curse; the silence let them just _exist_ with one another, but sometimes the silence was too loud for Wilbur.

He hesitated before speaking again. “…Did _you_ have a bad night?”

Techno’s hands twitched. Wilbur was perceptive, he prided himself on figuring out people’s body language quickly. It was necessary sometimes, when people didn’t speak before acting, when the only hint you got before you attacked was a miniscule tightening of a jaw or hardening of eyes. When Techno’s hands twitched, it meant he was surprised, or didn’t really know what to say.

“I…” He looked down. “Tommy’s not talkin’ to me.”

_Oh_. That was Wilbur’s fault, probably. Tommy had barely acknowledged him since his arrival, only a vague gesture here and a flat call for dinner there, and he was beginning to feel as if the younger teen didn’t particularly like him. Honestly, Wilbur wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.

“Stop that.” Techno’s voice, though quiet, made Wilbur jump.

“What? What did I do?”

“You’re overthinkin’. I can sense it.”

“Oh, You can fuck right off with that. We’ve known each other for like three weeks, you can’t sense shit about me.”

“Four. Five weeks tomorrow.”

Wilbur startled. He hadn’t realised Techno had been paying enough attention to count. Of course, he only knew Techno had been counting because he had _also_ been counting, and the numbers matched up, but that was beside the point. “Alright, fine. So what if I was overthinking? I’m allowed to overthink.”

Techno huffed a laugh. “You’re _allowed_ to overthink, but I wanna know what you’re overthinkin’ about. You went all quiet and weird the minute I brought up Tommy, and seein’ as the kid’s my brother, I think I’m allowed to be curious.”

“…Right. Yeah, yeah. Your brother. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“I don’t care.” Wilbur waved him off, but didn’t look at him in in the eyes. From his peripheral, he watched as Techno curled in on himself the tiniest bit. “It’s my fault Tommy’s not talking to you. I think.”

“What? What do you mean?” Suddenly, Techno’s voice was teetering on the edge of accusatory. Wilbur paid incredibly close attention to the tiny rip in the corner of his bedsheet, and refused to look at him. “What did you do to him?”

Something ugly and hot was bubbling in Wilbur’s stomach, winding up his throat and in his chest. “I didn’t _do_ anything! It’s not my fault he decided he hated me the minute I walked into the goddamn door!”

Techno was staring at him, calculating. “He doesn’t hate you.” He finally said, after what felt like a lifetime. “Tommy’s a weird kid. Loyal. But he’s also clingy, ‘n’ he doesn’t really understand how sharin’ works. Y’just need to let him warm up to you.”

“Yeah?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “How _exactly_ do I get him to warm up to me?”

From the way he faltered, Wilbur assumed Techno hadn’t got that far in his plan. “Uh…”

“Great. Fantastic. Wonderful plan.”

Rolling his eyes, Techno threw a scrunched-up scrap of paper from his bedside table at Wilbur, who only let out a quiet ‘ _ow, fuck you’_ as response, before Techno spoke again. “Gimme a minute. You could start at lunch. Should be in a minute, just start a conversation with him or somethin’. The two of you are weirdly alike, you should get along fine.”

_Really? That’s it?_

Techno must have noticed his apprehension, because he scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that. What did you think I was gonna say, ignore him until he eventually randomly decides he loves you?”

* * *

Ultimately, Wilbur decided to go with Techno’s plan. That was his first mistake.

Lunches were a casual affair. Usually they just ate whatever Phil had cooked the night before, or threw together a sandwich. The only rule was that during holidays and weekends, the four of them all ate in the same room. ‘ _As a family,_ ’ Phil would say.

_Family_.

Lunches were also relatively quiet. Phil would ask them all questions about their days or what they had been doing, but Wilbur, Techno and Tommy barely ever actually talked to each other.

Well. Tommy and Techno talked to each other. Wilbur stayed silent.

But he needed to change that, didn’t he? He needed to just suck it up and talk to Tommy, because otherwise Tommy wouldn’t talk to Techno and then Techno would hate Wilbur and then they’d tell Phil and _he still didn’t know what Phil did when he was angry_. So, he needed to talk to Tommy. But that was easier said than done.

The tension in the room was palpable. The four of them were sitting around the table, and it was silent, and Techno kept looking at Wilbur meaningfully but Wilbur _really_ didn’t want to talk to Tommy and _for God’s sake, Wilbur, he’s fourteen._

“S-s…” _Fuck_. Sometimes Wilbur hated talking. “So. Tommy.”

Tommy glanced up, barely looking at him at all before going back to his food. “What.”

There was a chunk taken out of the wood of the table, sharp against the polish surrounding it. It looked new, and Wilbur scratched at it absentmindedly. “Uh. How was your day?”

Tommy frowned at him. Techno looked half a second from death. Phil was looking hopefully between them, as if he actually cared if Wilbur became friends with Tommy. “Uh. It was good.”

“Cool.”

It was silent again. Wilbur groaned internally. “…Done anything interesting today?”

Tommy slammed his fork to the table. “What the fuck are you trying to achieve?”

Phil’s face fell. “Tommy, don’t-“

“No! I’m sick of it! This guy comes into _my_ house, takes away _my_ dad and _my_ brother, _refuses_ to even acknowledge me, then acts as if nothing’s wrong out of nowhere!”

Phil and Techno cringed. The ugly feeling in Wilbur’s chest was back. “Look, I was trying to be nice and actually talk to you, you don’t need to act like a baby about it!”

Tommy jumped up, chair toppling to the floor with a crash. Wilbur watched Techno flinch. “I’m not a _fucking_ baby!”

_“Hey!”_ Phil shouted, effectively silencing the whole room. He looked between them. “We’re not going to start a fight right now. It’s lunch time, and that means family time.”

“ _He’s_ not part of the family.” Tommy snarled. “ _He’s_ nothing but a problem. We were so much better before he showed up! It was fine, _we_ were fine, why did you have to bring _him_ in?”

“Tommy!” Phil looked appalled, panic rippling over his features briefly. “Take that back, right now.”

Tommy grinned smugly. “No. It’s the _fucking_ truth. Right Techno?”

Wilbur looked at Techno. He was curled over his food, seemingly trying to make himself seem as small as humanly possible. He jumped at the sound of his name. He looked between Wilbur and Tommy for a long second, panicked. He stayed silent, but his silence left Wilbur with a thousand words.

_Oh. Of course he agrees._

_How stupid of me._

“Tommy! Do _not_ bring your brother into this, and do _not_ talk to Wilbur like that. GO to your room.”

Tommy’s grin faltered. “But-“

“ _Room_.”

His eyes were wide, body rigid as he stood stock-still for a second. Then, he glared at Wilbur. “Fuck you! I hate you, this is _your_ fault!” And he scampered away, up the stairs, leaving the room in silence.

Techno got up next. He was shaking, trying desperately to hide it. His eyes were wide, and he kept looking between Phil, Wilbur and the stairs Tommy had just run up, until his gaze finally settled on Phil.

And he seethed.

“You’re not _helping_. You’re not doing _anything_.”

He left. Wilbur’s ears were ringing.

He had always been a problem. He had always been a pain, a curse. Why did he _ever_ think this would be any different? Why did he think that he would be allowed to be happy? Why did he think he could be fixed? He couldn’t be fixed. He was too _broken_ , far too damaged to be worth anything.

He shouldn’t have been there. He should’ve told Phil, told him before he got tangled up in the mess of Wilbur’s life. He should’ve told him, he should’ve sent him running, he should’ve saved him. It was his fault, _he_ was tearing this kind little family apart. He was useless, worthless, _broken broken broken broken broken._

He stood up. Phil opened his mouth. “Wilbur, I am so sorry, I just-“

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

It was the same bathroom he went to on the first day. It was small enough that maybe, if he believed hard enough, the whole thing would just completely disappear with him in it.

He should leave. He was causing too much trouble, he should just run away, and then Techno and Tommy could get along and Phil could have his two children and no-one would really care if Wilbur left, would they?

_I could move out,_ he thought. _Go somewhere. Far away from everything. I could go away, just pack up my bag and be gone before anyone’s awake. Would anyone care? Would anyone notice?_

Still in the kitchen, alone, Phil sat at the lunch table. And for the first time in years, Phil cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it gets worse before it gets better
> 
> Not too proud of this one ngl, but it's alright. Comments and kudos appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur and Schlatt talk, and someone listens. Phil makes a plan. Fundy is also there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nearly 2am and I did all of this tonight if you see a typo no you simply do not

**Hey Virgo, wanna come do stupid shit in the park?**

_Read 9:15am_

****

**I know you can see that, dumbass. Turn off your read receipts**

Wilbur sighed. He wanted to go. He wanted to be away from everything for a while, just hang out with Schlatt and pretend everything in his life hadn’t already gone to shit, but he also didn’t want to have to commit to the terrifying ordeal of talking to Phil after the fiasco that was the day before. He had toyed with the idea of just leaving _~~and never coming back~~_ ~~,~~ but he was already causing enough trouble as it was. _No use running away unless you know you’re not going to be found._

He rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t just leave Schlatt on read again.

**Sorry dude, can’t rn**

**Phil’s angry**

**Oh shit, why?**

**Wait you don’t need to answer that if u don’t wanna**

**Nah it’s chill**

**I fucked up again**

**Tommy got angry at me and now Techno hates me too**

**Wanna ft?**

Wilbur sucked in a breath. Techno would be out until lunch, doing God-only-knows what he did during the day. Phil was at work, Tommy was in his room. No one would be able to hear him.

He hesitated.

**Okay**

The sound of his phone ringing, shrill and grating against his ears, still made him jump. He clutched at his chest slightly. _God, you’re being so jumpy. Get over yourself._

He accepted the call. Where he expected to see Schlatt’s face, Wilbur only saw a blurry ear, and he rolled his eyes. “Schlatt, you were the one who said we were gonna facetime. You literally called me.”

“I- I was trying to make you laugh, dumbass!” Schlatt moved the phone from his ear, a playful scowl settling as his face came into view. “Whatever. Fine, _William._ Guess I’m just not funny.”

“Oh fuck off, you know you’re funny.”

“Not without my dearly missed praise from the great Mr Soot, I don’t.” He wiped a fake tear from his eye, letting out an overdramatic cry. “Oh, my craving for even a _morsel_ of affection, it kills me! I’m dead now. I’m alive, but I’m dead.”

Wilbur snickered, but then he heard footsteps from outside his door, which swung ajar, and Tommy’s voice drifted through from the hallway.

“I just don’t _know_ , Tubbo. He’s so… _weird._ I honestly don’t even know what he’s trying to do…”

His smile faded. Schlatt must have noticed, because at once he stopped pretending he was dead and looked at Wilbur. “What’s up? You said Tommy was angry at you, do you wanna talk about it?”

“I-“ _You can’t talk about it you can’t be a burden don’t make him carry all of your problems you piece of shit_ “He doesn’t like me. I dunno why, ‘n’ Techno hates me ‘cause he knows I’m not really part of the family, and Phil keeps looking at me like I’m gonna start throwing shit and- fuck!” He put his head in his hands, dropping the phone onto the bed below him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear that, I don’t wanna burden you-“

“Hey, dude, it’s alright.” Schlatt’s voice was soft, quieter and less abrasive than usual. “You’re fine. Can you look at me?”

“I’m not having a fuckin’ panic attack, Schlatt. I’m fine.”

“Really?” When Wilbur looked up, Schlatt’s face was pinched with concern, but judgemental. “I mean, you might not be havin’ a panic attack, but I don’t think you’re fine. You’re like, one of my best friends now. I now when you’re not fine.”

“Techno said the same thing. You’ve both only known me for four weeks.”

“Five. Exactly five weeks today, actually.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Schlatt laughed, but sobered up quickly. “Talk to me, dude. I’m askin’ for it. I’m _begging_ , or whatever. Tell me what your asshole brain is tellin’ you, so I can knock some sense into it.”

“Alright, uh… I guess, Tommy is making me kinda worried?” Wilbur looked away from the phone, nervous. “I mean, he has all the power here. I’m basically just living in his house, if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore, then I’m gone. I guess… I dunno, I kind of like it here,” he scoffed bitterly. “Thought I was wanted. Remind me to never think _that_ again.”

For a long moment, Schlatt was silent. Then, he simply said, “You know the kid wouldn’t _actually_ throw you out, right? Like, I can’t say I’ve talked to him too much, but I know he’s got a heart. He’s friends with _Tubbo_ , for God’s sake.”

“Really?” Wilbur still couldn’t shake the feeling. “I mean, Tubbo I understand. He’s cool. But…”

“Wilbur Johnathan Soot, I swear to God. If you say some stupid shit like ‘oh I’m not good enough to stay here’ or somethin’, I’ll kill you myself. Uh- I’m joking. But the threat still stands. But it’s not a threat. Shut the fuck up.”

Wilbur was giggling, desperately trying to hide it from his friend’s view. “What did you say my middle name was?”

“Shut up! I’m tryin’ to be all nice and wholesome here, you’re not making it easy. All I’m sayin’ is the kid’s not heartless. He’s just weird, ‘n’ clingy, and he doesn’t like sharing with people he doesn’t know. Give him time.”

Wilbur sighed. “I know. I just wish it was easier. And I can’t help but think it would be if I wasn’t… if I wasn’t _me_.”

He looked down. His face burned hot at his confession, and he hurriedly pushed down the thought of _don’t talk don’t say anything don’t be a fucking burden_ that was climbing up his throat and threatening to rip out of him. Two weeks ago, Schlatt had told him that he never felt as if Wilbur was a burden. He had told him that, no matter how much of a problem Wilbur was, he would never leave him. The night after, when Wilbur was in his bathroom again, heaving shallow breaths and trying to forget the nightmare he had woken from, Schlatt reminded him of that promise.

_“I couldn’t breathe, or see, and all I could feel was the- was the fire. It burned, Schlatt, and you- you wouldn’t let me come up with you, I was all alone, I- couldn’t do anything, I-”_

_“Hey, hey. I’d never do that, okay? Maybe in another universe I’m an evil supervillain or something, but in this one, right here, right now? I’d never leave you. No matter what happens, even if the entire world gets filled up with lava, the me from this universe would never leave you.”_

_“R-really?”_

_“Really. You’re not getting’ away from me that easy, Virgo.”_

(Wilbur still had nightmares. Of course he did. But Schlatt seemed to be awake every hour of the night, and would always pick up the phone, and it made his demons feel less huge).

As he spiralled further into his own thoughts, Schlatt only watched him, an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he said “You’ll never be able to completely change yourself, and that’s okay. No one wants you to. Tommy doesn’t, Phil doesn’t, Techno doesn’t, and I don’t. Trust me, Wilbur, even if Tommy doesn’t like you now, you’ll still always have me ‘n’ he others on your side. Techno, too. There’s only two other people I can think off the top of my head that he’d genuinely kill for, other than you. Well. Maybe Tubbo, if you catch him on a good day, but mainly you, Phil and Tommy. And look, I’ll be the first to say that Tommy’s an asshole, but he’s also protective. He’s fuckin’ clingy, is what he is. He might hate you now, but you gotta give him time, man. He’ll come around if you let him.”

“But-“

“No buts. You want him to like you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let him sort himself out, then try again. People who you love are hard, ‘cause you actually care about their feelings and shit. But the hardness is what makes it good, it’s what makes it worth fighting for. It’s a good hard. Like…”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

They laughed together, Schlatt’s voice tinny over the phone.

Neither of them noticed the quiet patter of young feet, running away from Wilbur’s still-ajar door.

* * *

There was, Phil noted, a surprising lack of foster homes in the world.

Of course, there were a few. Some of them were even very good. But there were _so many_ more children. Children that were scared, children that needed protecting, children that just wanted to be held and loved and accepted. That’s why he did what he did. That’s why he was constantly on the lookout for new children, children that were seen as hopeless or broken and would never be even considered for adoption in any other circumstances.

Or that’s what he told himself. Really, he was lonely.

He had never been a familial type of person before he started working towards becoming a foster parent. He had moved out of his parents’ house as soon as he physically could, had moved countries soon after. He hadn’t talked to his mother in months (he should probably text her—perhaps an early Christmas greeting), and his father even longer, and he had no other relatives. They had a vague understanding between them; he had never been a particularly wonderful son, and they had never been particularly attentive parents. When he left home, he had always assumed he wouldn’t have children.

And then he had seen Techno, and that was the end for that walled-off part of his heart.

He had never worked harder. Techno was thirteen, and he was damned if Phil would let him spend his birthday without a home. And he was warned every day of the horrors of what this child—this tiny, scared child—had done to his last home, what his parents had done, but whenever he looked at him all Phil could see was a little boy who was desperate to be loved.

_“Oh, but Mr. Watson, you must know that children of those caught up in Mafia dealings are never easy to deal with-“_

_“Well it’s good that I’m not ‘dealing with’ him, isn’t it? He’s a child, not a rabid dog.”_

Phil had almost cried the day Techno first stepped into his house. He was trembling, but trying not to show it, and his voice was monotone and flat and _oh, so scared_ , but he held strong and he jutted his chin forward and Phil already loved him like he was his own flesh and bone.

Then, that very same day, Techno ran away. And _God_ , that felt like a kick in the stomach.

Phil looked for eight hours. He looked for eight hours, up and down every street and in every shop and every inch of the park, he tore up his own house to make sure he wasn’t hiding in some nook or cranny, and he would’ve called the police if not for the sight of the tiny, tiny little boy, all curled up on a far-too-large armchair in a dark corner of the town library, fast asleep with a huge copy of Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_ sat on his entire lap. And when Phil picked him up, he was light—too light for a child of his age, too small—and he kept sleeping, and he cuddled into Phil’s arms with nothing more than a soft whine.

Phil bought him his own copy of _The Art of War_ , and neither of them talked about it, but later Phil found a little note on his desk ( _‘I think you’re like Sun Tzu.’_ ), and it was childish, and it only made sense if you thought about it hard enough, and it was the nicest thing Phil had ever read.

Then, a year later, Tommy. And Tommy was different.

Techno was quiet. Techno was calculating, and watching, and listening, and making sure that you thought about what you said before you said it because Techno always remembered everything, even if it didn’t seem like it. Tommy, however? Tommy was angry, and volatile, and he was raised voices and readied arms in a way that Phil had never seen before.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the foster system changed people. But he wasn’t expecting just how _different_ his two boys were.

They didn’t get along, at first. Of _course_ they didn’t; where Techno was quiet, Tommy was loud. Where Tommy was anxious, Techno built walls. But then, something happened, and then they stuck together like they were glue.

Phil would never pry into his children’s lives without reason. He knew their pasts, of course, but he never wanted them to feel trapped or as if they had no privacy. So when a night passed, and suddenly he found them asleep on the sofa, heads resting against each other and snoring softly in the small hours of the morning, he didn’t say anything. He just grinned, and watched their fighting turn into playful—brotherly—bickering. Family nights became a regular occurrence, and going out for ice cream once every month became a tradition, and everything was good. Tommy’s friend, Tubbo, became an honorary part of the family, and by default so did all of his siblings, and suddenly Christmas dinner was louder than Phil could ever remember it being (seven people, all crowded around a table, watching Eret tell a hilariously in-character story about Tubbo getting stuck inside a cardboard box had had never been what Phil expected, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world).

That Christmas, Phil had shown them both the adoption papers. They both cried, though neither would admit it if asked. Phil had almost cried too. Tubbo cried the most.

That was the end of it. They lived, and they loved, and they laughed ( _God_ , that was horrible. Phil was getting old), and they were a family, even if none of them were related. And then Phil got a call from the foster agency, saying there was a new child with a horrible background and a penchant for angry outbursts, and suddenly none of his children were talking and Tommy and Techno had stalked off to their rooms and Wilbur was in his bathroom and Phil was crying for the first time in years.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He said. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t just let them fix this by themselves. He was a _father_ , goddammit, he needed to act like one. He needed to stop trying to let them figure themselves out.

He took himself to the grocery store. Comfort meals were good. Comfort meals helped hard conversations go down, and Phil was nothing if not a stress cooker.

He didn’t know Wilbur’s comfort meal. _Fuck_.

That put a stopper in his plans. Did Wilbur even _have_ a comfort meal? What food was he given in his past homes? Really, Phil had no idea what Wilbur liked. _Jesus Christ Phil, pull yourself together,_ he thought. _You’ve been living with him for five weeks. You must know something he likes._

“Uh… Geography. Writing. Music-”

“Y’know, people usually find it kinda weird when old men talk to themselves in grocery stores, but given the state of your family in particular, I don’t think anyone’s really surprised.”

“-Fuck! Fundy, you scared me.” Phil clutched at his heart. “Where are your siblings?”

Fundy rolled his eyes, brushing his hair away from his face. “Out. Eret’s with Tubbo, having ‘oldest-youngest bonding time’ or something.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Why.” Fundy had an odd habit of staring directly and emotionlessly into people’s eyes. Phils shifted awkwardly. “Eret and I hung out last week. Next week is Niki’s turn, then we all hang out together. What, do you not do that?”

“Uh, no. Is it… is it good?”

“Yeah. Makes sure we’re all spending time with each other, and stuff. Anyways, why are you standing in the middle of a grocery store and talking to yourself?”

Phil sighed. “I’m trying to figure out what Wilbur’s comfort meal is, but he never told me.”

“Why not just ask?”

“I’m trying to make it a surprise. I’m cooking all three of them their favourite meals.”

“Oh.” Fundy frowned, contemplative. “Well, I could probably ask Tubbo. He talks to Schlatt sometimes, something about being his apprentice? I dunno. Anyway, he might know what Wilbur likes. But you should probably figure out what he likes yourself, too. You are his dad.”

Phil groaned quietly. “Don’t I know it.”

“Alright, cool.” Fundy took out his phone, quickly shooting off a text. He almost immediately got a text back. “Huh. Apparently he likes bananas. You could probably make him banana bread.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Phil rubbed his temples. “Thank you so much Fundy, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m fuckin’ amazing. Niki?”

A voice rang out from another aisle. “Yes, Fundy?”

“Did you hear that? I’m amazing.”

“Of course you are, you’re you! ‘You’ is the best thing you can be.”

Fundy rolled his eyes again, but there was a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah, damn right,” he muttered, before looking back at Phil. “Hope I helped, Phil. Also, Tubbo’s going to your place this time next week. Says you know, but knowing him, he’s forgotten to tell you. See ya.”

Phil grinned, too caught up in his own thoughts to fully process what Fundy was saying. _Alright, that’s that figured out._

A wave of apprehension washed over him, threatened to pull him under. _What if this doesn’t work? What if it gets worse? What if I can’t fix this?_

He steeled himself. If it didn’t work, he would try again. He had to. These boys were his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes i am sleep deprived and vibing with ti this is all y'all get have fun eat y'all's food drink water ily i'm gonna go to besllp
> 
> comments kudoo appreciateld eah <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> therapy circle time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I haven't updated this fic since last year haha. ahaha. ha.
> 
> Sorry about the wait y'all, for some reason this chapter in particular was just a s s to write.

Tommy had never liked eavesdropping. He didn’t like being quiet, didn’t like hiding and waiting and being still. He was a man of action, of movement; he was always tapping his feet or picking his nails or flickering his eyes all around him, never still. Never quiet.

That, Tommy assumed, was why it felt so odd to be where he was, standing still and quiet outside Wilbur’s door, listening to a—very obviously—private conversation.

“…Tommy is making me kinda worried.”

Tommy scoffed. What did Wilbur have to be worried about? It wasn’t like he _actually_ thought Tommy was going to do something to him. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“I mean, he has all the power here. I’m basically just living in his house, if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore, then I’m gone. I guess… I dunno, I kind of like it here. Thought I was wanted. Remind me to never think _that_ again.”

Oh. Apparently he did. Weird.

“You know the kid wouldn’t _really_ throw you out, right?”

Tommy stopped. Was Wilbur really that scared of him? Was that really what he believed, that Tommy would just get sick of him and throw him out like an old newspaper? Did he come across as that type of person?

_Was he that type of person?_

No. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t! He’d never be like that, he’d never _do_ that. Wilbur _must_ have known that. Right?

Tommy wasn’t that kind of person. He’d seen people like that, seen how they laughed and smiled as they threw people out like trash, he knew how it felt to be discarded ( _foster parents,_ he scoffed internally. _Only takes one to know ‘em all._ ) He had seen people like that, and decided in that moment that he’d _never_ turn out like them.

_But…_

“…Let him sort himself out, then try again. People who you love are hard, ‘cause you actually care about their feelings and shit. But the hardness is what makes it good, it’s what makes it worth fighting for.”

Tommy scrunched up his nose. _Schlatt had such a way with words_. But then he heard a quiet sigh from Wilbur, a barely-there noise of agreement, and Tommy belatedly realised that Wilbur had just agreed to actually try to make Tommy happy.

There were only three other people in the entire world that _genuinely_ wanted to make Tommy happy.

Suddenly the hallway seemed too small. Tommy’s eyes darted around, searching, an almost-instinct in his brain ringing alarm bells as he desperately looked for someone who was going to jump out and say ‘ _fuckin’ surprise, bitch you thought,’_ but nothing came, and he scurried away from Wilbur’s door without even considering his noise level.

Wilbur wanted to make him _happy_. He actually wanted to try. Tommy flopped onto his bed, groaning. “I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up bad.”

In truth, Tommy hadn’t known what to make of Wilbur. He seemed closed-off, and he often reminded Tommy of a wounded animal; snarling, snapping, but knowing that there wasn’t really anything he could do to stop himself from getting even more hurt. Tommy knew that feeling well, but he had never really expected Wilbur to be _like_ that. His file had said Wilbur was a problem child, that he had anger issues and that he was practically already a criminal.

_Your file said that too,_ a voice in Tommy’s head that sounded suspiciously like Tubbo said. _Techno’s as well. What makes him any different?_

He wasn’t any different. Not really. Tommy could see it: he could see, now, the way Wilbur held himself and the look behind his eyes, a desperate need to be loved and appreciated undermined by a feral hatred of being under any kind of scrutiny. Tommy had been there too, he knew how it felt to crave love and despise pity and realise the two were, for some reason, intrinsically connected for people like him, he knew the ‘self-sabotage to avoid vulnerability’ game as well as he knew his own name. He knew how it felt to realise that all your self-sabotaging had actually worked perfectly, and everyone hated you. He knew all that, and he still, _still_ looked Wilbur in the eyes and said the single sentence that had been his own biggest fear ever since Phil.

_“He’s not part of the family!”_

_Fuck._

He picked up his phone. He barely had anyone’s number; snapchat was more efficient and who remembered _mobile numbers_ nowadays, anyway? He only had Phil, Techno’s mobile numbers, and Tubbo’s house phone.

_(“Why would I need your house phone? What if your parents pick up?”_

_Tubbo looked away, eyes sad. “Well, uh, they kind of… died. When I was younger.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Y-yeah. I don’t really remember them, but Fundy says that they left us with enough money in the trust fund to live okay. But- but the people wanted to take us away from each other, ‘n’ they said that we weren’t allowed to stay unless there was someone with a paying job – please don’t tell Phil!”_ _His voice sounded panicky. “Eret works really hard, and it’s all legal and stuff cause they’re nearly seventeen and we all get enough food and go to school and stuff! It’s just that, uh, sometimes we don’t have enough to pay for mobile plans ‘n’ stuff, and Eret and Niki and Fundy can only take a few jobs each as well as school-“_

_“Tubbo. You’re okay. Just give me your home phone, it’ll be fine.”_

_“Please don’t tell anyone. Not even Phil. Promise.”_

_“I Promise.”)_

The phone rang three times, before someone picked up. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, Niki.” Truth be told, Niki scared Tommy. She was so… _good_ , and Tommy often felt that if she even _had_ a bad side, you wouldn’t survive if you got on it.

“Oh, Tommy! I assume you’re looking for Tubbo?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. He just left with Eret, they’re having bonding time.”

Tommy stopped for a moment. “Bonding time?”

“Yeah,” Niki laughed. “Does your family not have bonding time?”

“No. We don’t.”

There was a silence between them that probably wasn’t nearly as awkward as Tommy felt it was. Then, Niki said kindly, “Would you like me to take a message for him?”

“…No. It’s okay. It’s nothing, anyway.”

Niki’s voice softened. “Well, I can’t say I believe that, Tommy. I’ve known you for long enough to know when you sound sad. I’m not going to push you or anything, but just know that you’re very smart, and very kind, and I have complete faith that you can work through any situation you’re put in.”

“Oh.” Maybe his earlier statement about only three people caring about him wasn’t true. _Never mind. Tubbo’s family counts as one person._ “Well, um, maybe I could use a little bit of… advice. If it doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all! I’d be happy to help.” _Why is she so nice?_ How _is she so nice?_

“Well, uh, I was just wondering. Do you ever have fights with you siblings?”

The line was quiet for a moment. Then, just as Tommy was about to say _oh, no, never mind, sorry I bothered you, bye_ , Niki spoke again. “Of course. Tommy, I have three siblings. We try not to fight, but there’s always gonna be moments.”

“O-okay. Uh, how would you… say you fucked something up. Really badly. And you didn’t know what to do to fix it, because you, like, fucked up _really_ badly. Like, family-ruining type shit. Uh. What would you do?”

Another pause. “…Tommy, has Tubbo ever told you about the strawberry dress incident?”

“No?”

Niki sighed. She sounded sad. Guilty. “Well, a couple years ago, when Fundy and I were younger, we decided to look through Eret’s things. I don’t know why, but they were at work and we were bored, and it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“We were only looking for a few minutes, when we came across this dress. It was absolutely beautiful. Vintage, with little strawberries on it. We, being twins, both decided at exactly the same time that we wanted it.”

“And you fought over it? That hardly seems family-breaking.”

“That’s not all. We fought over it, yes, but then we both pulled on it just too hard, and…” Niki took a deep breath, and suddenly Tommy regretted making her tell this story. “We ripped it. Almost completely in two.”

“Oh no. What did Eret say?”

“That’s the worst part. When we found it, we didn’t realise what it actually was. It was our mother’s favourite dress, Tommy. She gave it to Eret the week before… it was the last connection they had with mum.”

“Oh.”

Niki hummed. “When Eret found out, Fundy and I genuinely thought they were going to kill us. It-it was the only thing of our mother’s that they had left, and we had broken it over a squabble.”

“Did you… I mean, did they-“ Tommy twitched involuntarily. He had met Eret, and they seemed kind, but…

“No, Eret would never hurt us. But it was, as you said, almost family breaking. They were under a lot of stress—Fundy and I were too young to work yet, they had to work three jobs on top of school—and that was the last straw.”

“What did you do?”

“We cried. For a while, I mean. We were kids, and Eret had been the only person supporting us for ages at that point. It felt as if our entire world was coming down around us. Then, we sat down, and we apologised.”

“Really? That was it?”

“Not exactly. You see, we tried to fix the dress. Eret was still sad and angry, of course. But we were sincere, and we spend half of our school holiday spending day and night trying to fix the damage until they found us one night at three in the morning. Fundy couldn’t find the right type of needle, and I had lost the scissors, and when they walked in we were sitting on the floor of our room, the dress between us, crying.”

“They didn’t yell at us or take the dress away again. They sat with us, and they found the scissors and the needle, and then they brought Tubbo in and all four of us fixed it, together. We realised that we had made a silly mistake, and we decided that we wouldn’t let that come between what was really important: us.”

Tommy was struck dumb. “Niki, that’s…”

She giggled. “It’s just a little story. I still feel bad about it, sometimes, but I know that we’re all family, and that means that we learn to forgive each other.”

Tommy was quiet, pondering. Finally, he said slowly, “Thanks, Niki. That really helped me. I think I know what to do now.”

“Any time. Now, I’m really sorry, but I have to go, Fundy and I need to go get some groceries. But remember what I’ve said, okay? I believe in you.”

Tommy sighed as he hung up. How would he make this right? Wilbur was obviously actually trying, and Tommy was just being a dick to him. _God, I said he wasn’t a part of the family. Fuck. Shit. I’m an asshole._

His phone pinged again. Blearily, he turned to face it, and was met with a message from Techno.

**Gonna be back in 5**

**How’s Wilbur?**

Tommy sighed.

**We fucked up**

**Like big time**

**Like really big**

**Jesus**

**What did you do**

**So,,,,,,**

**Turns out he actually likes me**

**Like he actually wants to be my friend**

**Also happens that he thinks we both hate him**

**Fuck**

**Shit.**

**Y e a h.**

**Alright, here’s the plan.**

* * *

There was a knock at Wilbur’s door.

Well, it wasn’t _really_ a knock, in Wilbur’s humble opinion. More of an attempt to break the whole door down.

“Wilbur, let us in!” Ah. It was Tommy, then. That made more sense.

“I think you should probably let us in. The gremlin’s gonna burst a blood vessel.” Techno’s voice was quieter, but it still felt like ice down Wilbur’s back. This was where he was told to leave, wasn’t it? This was where they told him to get out, pulled out his bag (it still had his essentials in it, tucked away in Wilbur’s cupboard) and kicked him out. Would they even give him a lift? Or would he be forced to walk back to the foster service by himself as punishment? What would they _do_?

He steeled himself, made his face go carefully blank. “Come in.”

The door was flung open. Wilbur flinched.

Tommy cringed. “Sorry, sorry, I-“ he spoke softer, and it was almost funny how careful he was being, to the person he was about to throw out. Almost. “We need to talk.”

Wilbur’s blood ran cold. “I-“ _talk talk say something stop say something say **something** -_ “I’ll pack my bags.”

Techno looked aghast. “What?”

Techno had never seemed like a cruel person, but making Wilbur repeat himself seemed far more tortuous than really needed _._ “…Don’t make me say it again,” _Just tell me you want me out and go._ “I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I won’t be long. I-I had my bags all r-ready anyway.” And really, fuck Wilbur’s voice for sounding so _fucking_ broken.

He made to get his bag, but Techno caught his wrist lightly (not strong enough to scare Wilbur, but the motion was there). His face was blank, but there was a kind of sad resonance brewing behind his eyes that made Wilbur hesitate. “Wait. We’re not gonna… we’re not kicking you out, alright?”

_What_? “Why not?” He looked at Tommy. “You said-“

“I know what I said.” Tommy sighed. He wouldn’t look at Wilbur, staring at the floor with an unreadable expression. “I-I didn’t mean it. I was, uh, angry ‘n’ shit. I dunno.”

“…Right.”

“What Tommy’s _trying_ to say, is we don’t want to kick you out, alright?” Techno’s voice was suddenly soft, the sadness of his eyes spreading across his face and shaping it into a look of pity (and something primal in Wilbur still tensed at the thought of _pity_ , but he elected to ignore the shiver of _stopnostop_ that pricked down his spine). “Man. We’re all fucked up, right? Let’s stop pretending we’re not. Let’s just- Christ. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Let’s just wait for Phil to get back and then… I dunno, have some solemn heart-to-heart.”

Tommy scuffed the floor with one socked foot, looking down. “What he said.” The words were sharp, tailored delicately to sound uncaring and nonchalant, to lessen the overall impact; the overall amount of potential for self-damage.

It was a strategy Wilbur had picked up too.

At Techno’s raised eyebrow and unimpressed look, Tommy huffed. “And, uh, sorry. Y’know, for telling you I hated you and stuff.”

Wilbur looked away. “Yeah.”

Silence enveloped the room, and Wilbur decided he quite liked the thought of climbing out of his own skin—tiny, nervous sparks flickered over his arms, down his legs and pricked into his neck—and hiding in his bathroom. He was supposed to say something. He was supposed to forgive Tommy, smile at Techno, laugh and say it was nothing. He was supposed to say he understood. And he did—and Tommy were just different genres of the same level of fuckup, he knew that—but the same writhing mass that made itself a home in Wilbur’s stomach all those years ago in Family One reared its head and _yowled_ whenever he let himself believe, even for a moment, that Techno and Tommy and Phil actually wanted to help him.

_Pity’s fake,_ Wilbur thought bitterly. _Pity’s for brownie points._ Because it was, wasn’t it? Pity wasn’t about helping someone, it was about expressing the fact that you’re a good person because you felt bad for some little street rat you’d never touch with a ten-foot pole. Pity was the driving force behind the fake charities that didn’t change anything, it was the driving force behind spreading shit on the internet to ‘spread awareness’ without actually doing anything. Pity was fantastic for people who didn’t actually want to get their hands dirty.

Wilbur hated pity.

But here he was, sitting and watching his broth- Family Twelve look at him and pity him and wait for him to be better because of a pat on the head and an apology, but he could never do that, he wasn’t normal enough to forgive people, he was a fucked up little teenager who pretended he hated being pitied because of a righteous reason but really hated it because it made him feel _weak_ , and he closed his eyes and wondered why he wasn’t allowed to just go into his bathroom again and pretend he didn’t exist until the others eventually forgot about him, like everyone does. He wanted to run again. He wanted to _~~staypleaseletmestayletmestayplease~~_ hide.

But then a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Schlatt said _hey, no. Don’t do that. Face your problems, dude,_ so he stayed still, and so did Tommy, and so did Techno.

They were all very still, and none of them said anything. They waited.

The front door of the house suddenly slammed, and they all jumped. “Boys? I’m home!” Phil’s voice rang out, and Wilbur felt himself relax slightly, watching the others do the same. _Thank fucking God._

Tommy was the first to speak up. “Well. Shouldn’t keep him waiting, I guess?”

The three walked downstairs in an almost absurdly straight line, Tommy in the front and Techno at the rear, with Wilbur in an uncomfortable middle (no matter how much they tried to hide it, Wilbur noticed the way Tommy and Techno sped up slightly as they were passing Wilbur’s bathroom – as if they were _expecting_ him to run off), and Wilbur was sure they must have looked like some solemn funerary parade. Then, when they finally got downstairs, it was _worse_.

Phil was bustling around a kitchen. Not the good kind of bustle, either. He was bustling like it was the only thing that was stopping him from completely breaking down. _An anxiety bustle, or something._ It made Wilbur’s chest constrict uncomfortably. He did this.

Techno coughed awkwardly, and Phil spun around. “Boys! I didn’t notice you there, sit down. I- oh, shit,” Phil laughed, a nervous little thing that really captured the spirit of the room at that particular moment. “I was gonna make you all a surprise meal, all of your favourite foods. Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, though.”

The three boys were silent. Phil dropped the act, frowning. “Boys, we need to have a conversation. Obviously there’s something going wrong somewhere down the track-“ Wilbur supposed he must have looked guilty, because Phil gave him a pointed look, “-none of which is anyone in particular’s fault. I know this is gonna suck for the three of you, but as your _father_ -“ another pointed look – now Tommy looked guilty. “-It’s my responsibility to make sure you all feel as safe and loved as possible.”

“I completely agree.” Tommy said.

Phil raised his eyebrows, shocked. “Really?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever head you say that, Tommy.”

“ Fuck off Techno, I’m being serious,” Tommy shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not spending another fucking day waiting for the next fight. Let’s just get on with it, and have a little fuckin’ _therapy circle_ or some shit, then pretend we’re fixed and be on our way.”

“Tommy-“

He turned on his heel abruptly, cutting Phil off. He brushed past Wilbur, pointedly not meeting his eyes, and flopped heavily on the living room couch.

“You coming? Or are you just gonna stand there and not do anything?” There was something brittle in Tommy’s voice, a tiny sliver of a crack that was slowly growing. He didn’t look at any of them.

Techno was the next to move. “Tommy,” he hissed, slightly too loud. “This isn’t part of the plan.”

“Fuck the plan.”

“Tommy, what are you-“

“Phil, _please_.” The strain in Tommy’s voice only got more pronounced. Wilbur felt as if soon, he would be able to see cracks lining Tommy’s face, where his mask was breaking. “Just- I need to do this. I need to.”

Once they were all seated, albeit tensely, with Phil’s gaze hovering, worried, on Tommy’s face, Tommy sighed. He closed his eyes, as if bracing for a horrible impact, then spoke.

“Well, let’s get this over with. My name’s Tommy Innit-Watson, and all this bullshit is my fucking fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Tommy angst tiem smile (:
> 
> Also Tubbo and his family lore! My brain went brr and now Eret's strawberry dress has lore. Yay.
> 
> Also I killed the Tubbo Family's parents for artistic reasons (AKA I couldn't be bothered to think of OCs)
> 
> Comments appreciated! Can't say I really liked the way this chapter turned out, but I'm sleep deprived again so we're just gonna roll with it


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk. Then, Christmas. Then, the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. Hi. Been a while.
> 
> I got massive writer's block when writing this, then wrote all of it in one sitting at 1 in the morning, so it kinda sucks lmao anyways last chapter!!! Kinda rushed, kinda shitty, but it's here

Tommy’s hands were twitching in his lap. His legs were crossed, fingers tapping incessantly on his knees, and his eyes were downcast. He was sitting on the opposite side of the Slovenia couch as Wilbur, Techno between them, a barrier. There was a slight tremor in his shoulders. He was quiet, after his outburst; that was the scariest part.

Phil was the first to speak, the stunned silence unbearable. “Tommy… what?”

“You heard me.” He raised his chin, still refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “I’m done with all this. It’s _my_ fault we’re all fighting, _my_ fault all this… all this _shit_ is happening. So let’s just get that over with, and get on with it.”

“Tommy,” Techno gently laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “it’s not your fault-“

“Fuck _off_ Techno!” Tommy jerked away from Techno, shaking off his hand. His own hands, still in his lap, began quickly flexing. In and out, in and out. “It’s _obviously_ my fault, th-there’s no point in pretending . I was a bitch during lunch. It-“ He glanced at Wilbur. “It wasn’t very big man of me.”

Techno looked horrified. Wilbur would have laughed. He didn’t. Tommy looked close to crying at the admission.

_It wasn’t very big man of me._

Everyone apologises in their own ways.

“No, Tommy, seriously. It’s not your fault.”

One night, somewhere between the second and third week, Wilbur had woken up to Techno writhing in his bed, a sheen of sweat shining on his face and a steady stream of tears dripping into his hair and on his pillow. When he had awoken, he had gone perfectly still.

_“Techno?”_

_…_

_“I know you’re awake.”_

“Oh yeah, Techno? Then who’s fault is it? _Yours_?”

Wilbur didn’t know the details. It wasn’t the type of thing either of them particularly enjoyed talking about. But there was only so many things you could hide when you’re living in the same house, same room, same air as someone.

When Techno woke up from a nightmare he expected to be scolded, so he pretended to still be asleep. His tell for that was that when he was really asleep he would softly snore. He didn’t like people touching his back or his face and was fiercely protective of a small knife he kept under his mattress. He despised anything to do with drugs (Wilbur was fine with that. Drugs left a poor taste in his mouth after Family Ten. _Literally_ ), and when he felt anxious—which was often—his jaw would clench and his left arm would jerk minutely; far too small a movement for anyone _normal_ to really notice.

Techno’s jaw was clenched. He held his left arm in a tight grip. Wilbur noticed, because _of fucking course_. “That’s… I mean, that’s kinda the logical conclusion, right?”

“What? Techno, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“I’m serious! I mean, who _started_ this whole thing? I- look, I wasn’t having a good day, the day he came. But that didn’t mean I had to take it out on him!” Techno blinked one, two, three times in quick succession before continuing. “You didn’t do _anything_ , Toms. _I_ was too weak to take care of my problems myself. It’s _my_ fault.”

“But-“

“It’s my fault.” Wilbur’s voice was quiet, even to his own ears. Techno and Tommy both whipped around to look at him.

“The fuck-“

They were looking at him again. They were _pitying_ him. Tommy was staring at him with large eyes, washed with sadness and raw and for a moment all Wilbur really wanted to do was sit and let himself to succumb to the pity and the pain and his desperate need for family. _God, how pathetic._ “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear! I just- I thought it would be better if I just- i-if I didn’t- I didn’t want to _try_ , y’know? I thought you would-“ _Fuck_ Wilbur’s voice and _fuck_ the houses that took it away from him and _fuck_ the way that he

“Hey, woah, it’s alright. Let’s all stop for a second, yeah?” Phil’s voice was like a light in the darkness. He looked between the three of them, face an ugly mixture of emotions and thoughts and feelings. “You’re all alright. Everyone’s here, everyone’s safe. We’re okay. Let’s take some deep breaths.”

They breathed. Tommy’s hands stopped clenching, fingers stopped tapping. Techno’s mouth, drawn into a thin line, relaxed in increments. Then, Phil spoke again.

“I want you all to know, before any of this keeps going, that I’m so, _so_ proud of you boys. All of you,” He glanced around at them again. “Keep that in mind. There isn’t a single thing you could do or say, right now, that could make me less proud of what the three of you have accomplished in the past few weeks.”

Wilbur looked down. He didn’t _feel_ like he had accomplished anything. _Well, maybe he can count ‘ruining an entire family’ as an accomplishment._ He cringed at his own thought. Techno, wordlessly, shuffled one hand closer to him – a peace offering. He watched, from the corner of his eye, Techno’s other hand move to Tommy.

Phil sighed. “I have an idea. None of you are gonna like it.”

“How reassuring. Not like we’ve already done too much shit we didn’t like today.” Techno’s voice was clipped.

Phil put his hands up, a placating gesture. Wilbur wondered how he was so calm. “Just hear me out, please.”

“…Fine.”

“Thank you. Now, I know what the three of you are thinking. You’re all actually thinking the same thing – you’re all going ‘oh god, it’s my fault, all of this is my fault’,” Phil smiled, sadly, at how they all grimaced. “That’s okay. It’s okay to feel like that. But it’s not true.”

“It’s no one’s fault. Not really. Or everyone’s if you want to look at it that way. We need to talk. _Really_ talk, not just ‘how was your day’ at the lunch table. So,” he took a deep breath. “My name is Phil. I’m thirty years old, and I have three kids whom I love very much.”

A beat. Then, Tommy scrunched his nose. “This is dumb. I liked my plan better.”

“Your plan woulda’ ended up with one of us in the panic bathroom,” Techno said dryly.

Tommy huffed. “No it wouldn’t. My plans are awesome.” He glanced up at Phil, pleading. “Do I really need to do this?”

“Please. We all need to really get to know each other. You don’t need to say anything big, yet. Just a fun fact.”

“ _Fuckin ‘fun fact’ bullshit…_ ” Tommy muttered. Then, “…My name is Tommy. Innit-Watson. And, uh, I have a friend, and his name is Tubbo.” He trailed off. “That’s it.”

“Okay, cool. Thank you for sharing. Techno?”

“Why.” Techno’s eyes were sharp; mistrusting. “You already know all about us.”

Phil was still calm. He gently said, “I know. Tell me again.”

“My name is Techno. I’m sixteen.” There was a challenge in his voice. Phil didn’t rise to the bait.

“Thank you. Wilbur, your turn.”

“Uh.” _Fucking intelligent answer you fucking dickhead stupid ridiculous fuck-_ “My name is Wilbur soot, and, um, I play gui- I’m fifteen.”

They kept going. Around in a circle, they said one fact each.

Phil once spent five years playing one hardcore Minecraft world.

Tommy’s hair was platinum blond when he was a baby.

Techno used to know a bit of Spanish.

Wilbur liked psychology.

Fact after fact after fact, until Phil’s face sobered up completely, suddenly serious. “I used to have pretty bad anxiety, when I was a kid.”

“Oh.” Noticing the change in the air of the room, Tommy hesitated. “Are we- do we have to?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

“Oh,” he said again. “Uh. I- um, I’m here ‘cause my parents died when I was three. My- my biological ones.” He rubbed the back of his head. “You- Phil probably already knew that.”

“It doesn’t matter if I knew, that was very brave of you.”

They looked to Techno. He frowned, looking away. “Uh-“ he laughed nervously. “My name’s Techno and I’m an alcoholic-“

“Techno.”

“I- fine!” He picked at the skin of his fingernails, not looking at any of them. “My- I’m here because my parents are assholes. That’s all I’m sayin’”

“That’s okay. Thank you.”

It was Wilbur’s turn. He had never told anyone what happened.

“I…”

Would they leave him? If they found out that it was his fault, that he wasn’t good enough, that he was never good enough for anyone, would they leave him too?

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

This was them. This was Phil and Tommy and Techno and they wouldn’t do that to him.

“I’m here because my mum left me in foster care when I was little, and no one else wanted me.”

Wilbur closed his eyes. They had been silent for a very, very long time.

He almost gave up. Then, something happened that he would have never expected.

“We want you.”

“What?”

Tommy wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “Just- don’t make me repeat it. You heard me.”

“I-yeah, but… _what?_ ”

“I said we want you, bitch!” His eyes were fiery. “Look, I know you think you suck ‘n’ shit, but _seriously_! You’re part of this family, or whatever, and that’s all! And I _know_ I was a bitch to you, but it was only ‘cause I thought you were trying to take Techno away from me.” he sniffed, and Wilbur suddenly remembered that he was only fourteen. “Tubbo said that I should give you a chance, but I didn’t, ‘cause I was kind of scared of you, and Techno liked you, and I thought…” Tommy wasn’t crying. But he looked closer to it than Wilbur had ever seen him, and it made a dark mass of guilt settle heavily in Wilbur’s chest.

“Oh, Toms…” Phil said. “We could never replace you. I’m sorry, I should’ve made that clear to you.”

“It’s… it’s okay. I could’ve been nicer, I guess.”

“Oh.” they didn’t want to kick him out? They were _apologising_? “Th-thank you.”

“I coulda done somethin’ different too, I think,” Techno said. “I was kinda hot ‘n’ cold with you, Wilbur. That… that wasn’t fair, I guess? I dunno.”

It got awkward. They were quiet for a minute, contemplative, until Phil chuckled. “God, you boys are some of the smartest, bravest, kindest kids I know, and yet you’re all collectively about as emotionally intelligent as a rock.”

“Hey!”

“It’s kind of true, Tommy.”

“I know, but he doesn’t need to say it!”

“Boys,” Phil said calmly. “It’s fine. The last few weeks have been really tough. But we can get through it, because that’s what family does. We make mistakes, and then we fix them together.”

“…Just like Niki and Fundy and the dress,” Tommy muttered.

“…Sure.” Phil looked at Wilbur, suddenly aware of how quiet he had been. “Wilbur? Are you alright? Sorry if this is a lot for you.”

“You-“ he looked into Phil’s eyes. There was no malice, no lies, just plain kindness. “I’m part of your family?”

“Wilbur,” Techno’s hand, still sitting by Wilbur’s came to rest at his shoulder. “You were always part of the family.”

He had never been part of a family before.

* * *

“Wilbur! Wilbur, _wake up_ , you bitch!”

Wilbur groaned. “Go away.”

“No! It’s Christmas!” Tommy was bouncing up and down. “Tubbo ‘n’ his siblings are coming over! _Come on_!”

“Go bother Techno.”

“I’m already up.” True to his word, Techno was standing by the door, cup of coffee gently steaming in his hand. “Oh, also, Schlatt’s coming over. Minx too.”

That got Wilbur up. Schlatt was a bitch when he was kept waiting.

It was his first Christmas in the house. Wilbur yawned as he went down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily. Tommy ran past him, practically vibrating with energy.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Techno said.

The living room was also a bustle of energy. Phil was in the kitchen, frying eggs and making pancakes. Eret and Fundy were deep in a discussion, gesticulating wildly. Niki was idly chatting with Minx (it always surprised Wilbur how well they got along, being so different. _Opposites attract, I guess_ ). Schlatt was corrupting Tubbo.

“Oi, stop tryna’ turn him into your little businessman,” Tommy said, no heat behind his words. Schlatt grinned, lounging on the couch leisurely.

“Aw, but he’d be so _good_ , kid-“

“Nope.”

“Wilbur!” Niki grinned at him from the table. “Good morning.”

“Oh, is Wilbur up? Finally,” a voice came in from the kitchen, “thought I’d have to come rouse you myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Coffee?” Techno handed him a cup. “Thanks.”

Breakfast was a loud affair. All ten of them were crowded around the table (which could only really fit the four of them at the best of times, but they made do), and not a second passed without a yell from Minx or Tommy, or a laugh from Niki, or a heavily-embellished story from Eret. Tubbo fell off his chair twice—once from laughing too hard, and once because he’s Tubbo—and they had a very short-lived game of ‘who can pour their orange juice into their mouth from the highest without spilling’ that Phil put a stop to. It was nice.

Then came the presents. Eret looked guilty, briefly mumbling something about paycheques and debts before quickly handing over a small box of chocolates and looking away. Phil only smiled, told them they didn’t need to give him anything, then gave them a large gift basket, and made them promise to always call if they needed anything.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you have nowhere to go. I deal with Tommy on the daily, there’s nothing you can throw at me that’ll make me angry,” He joked. Eret looked choked up.

Present giving was a blur. Wilbur had done quite well, if he said so himself; he had given Tommy and Tubbo two little charms in the shape of a compass, with the words ‘your Tommy’ and ‘your Tubbo’ inscribed on each of them, and Niki the large kitten plush he had seen her looking at a few weeks prior. He gave Fundy a new microphone (he had played Minecraft with the guy before – his microphone was near _impossible_ to understand) and a pair of plastic cat ears, jokingly telling him that he accepted Fundy as ‘the furry he was’. To Techno, he gave a book on Greek mythology, and he shyly gave Phil a ‘#1 Dad’ mug (he had tears in his eyes as he looked at it).

“Alright Virgo, now it’s time for our gift to you,” Schlatt said suddenly. “This is from all of us, ‘cause it was fuckin’ expensive. Minx, go get it.”

“Why do I gotta get it?”

“It’s fine Schlatt, I’ll get it if Minx doesn’t want to.”

“No wait Niki, don’t get it, now I feel bad. I’ll go.”

Minx came back with a guitar case. Wilbur stilled.

Techno rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh, I saw you lookin’ at my old guitar, on the first day. You also kept sayin’ you used to play it, so I figured you’d want a proper one, instead of my old one, ‘cause that one’s really broken and I haven’t played it in ages, and-“

Wilbur burst into tears. _Fuck. Shit_. Techno, eyes wide, immediately started apologising. “Oh shit, is it, like, some weird trauma thing for you? Did- I- _shit_ , I didn’t mean-“

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ,” Wilbur was frantically wiping at his eyes, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. “I- _fuck_ , it’s not a trauma thing, I just- I-“

“You’re alright, Wil. Deep breaths.”

Wilbur paused, collecting himself. Then, “I- I learnt at one of my old Houses. I had to stop, ‘cause, uh, most of the rest of the Houses didn’t like noise and- you don’t mind?” He glanced at Phil, who shook his head, smiling gently. “I- god. Thank you. Thank you so mu- ah!”

A body was suddenly on top of him. “Don’t scare us like that, Wil! We thought we fucked up!” Minx laughed, wrapping her arms around him. Tommy and Tubbo soon joined in, followed by Niki, Fundy, Eret, Phil and even Schlatt and Techno were dragged in, until they were all piled on the Slovenia couch, laughing and screaming and Wilbur was crying and for once in his life he felt like he had a _home_.

When they pulled away (mostly because Techno and Schlatt’s complaints were slowly getting louder), Phil looked him in the eyes. “You have one more present, Wil,” he said.

“Oh no, I’m gonna cry!” Tubbo yelled, earning a confused look from Wilbur. _What present would make Tubbo cry_?

Phil set the papers down with a light thump on the table. He smiled, but he was nervous. “I’ve been thinking about how to do this for a while, but I figured I’d stick with tradition.”

_No. No way._

Techno was grinning. “It’s how he asked Tommy ‘n’ I. Christmas morning.”

“Yeah, except with us we weren’t crying like a loser-“ Techno elbowed Tommy. “-I mean. I’m joking.”

Phil rolled his eyes good naturedly. “They were crying, don’t trust them. Anyway, I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything, you’re always gonna be a part of the family regardless, but… I wanted to make it official. So, Wilbur, do you want-“

“Yes. God, yes. Oh my God.”

If you were to ask Wilbur if he cried when Phil asked him if he wanted to be his legal son, he would’ve said no. Vehemently. Tommy and Techno would also deny it. But the truth is, all three of them cried. Phil almost cried too.

Tubbo cried the most.

Funny how family is, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao that's the end
> 
> Might start a series, I kinda want to tell the story of house ten specifically cause that's a really major one and I also wanna expand on certain friendships i.e. Wilbur and the Schlatt Gang (minus carson because ew), and maybe Eret and Wilbur because I love me some tall white people who look the same, and then I also kind of want to look at school life with The Boys and other stuff. Anyways until then ily mwah drink water bye

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had a lot of fun writing this???? I love me some good angst and conflict. Also don't worry! All will turn out okay (: Comments make the world go round!


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